The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Underground City, by Jules Verne
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Title: The Underground City
Author: Jules Verne
Release Date: September 17, 2008 [EBook #1355]
Last Updated: January 9, 2013
Language: English
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THE UNDERGROUND CITY

CHAPTER I. CONTRADICTORY LETTERS

IF Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle coal-mines,
Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an interesting nature will
be made to him.

"Mr. James Starr will be awaited for, the whole day, at the Callander
station, by Harry Ford, son of the old overman Simon Ford."

"He is requested to keep this invitation secret."

Such was the letter which James Starr received by the first post, on the
3rd December, 18—, the letter bearing the Aberfoyle postmark, county
of Stirling, Scotland.

The engineer's curiosity was excited to the highest pitch. It never
occurred to him to doubt whether this letter might not be a hoax. For many
years he had known Simon Ford, one of the former foremen of the Aberfoyle
mines, of which he, James Starr, had for twenty years, been the manager,
or, as he would be termed in English coal-mines, the viewer. James Starr
was a strongly-constituted man, on whom his fifty-five years weighed no
more heavily than if they had been forty. He belonged to an old Edinburgh
family, and was one of its most distinguished members. His labors did
credit to the body of engineers who are gradually devouring the
carboniferous subsoil of the United Kingdom, as much at Cardiff and
Newcastle, as in the southern counties of Scotland. However, it was more
particularly in the depths of the mysterious mines of Aberfoyle, which
border on the Alloa mines and occupy part of the county of Stirling, that
the name of Starr had acquired the greatest renown. There, the greater
part of his existence had been passed. Besides this, James Starr belonged
to the Scottish Antiquarian Society, of which he had been made president.
He was also included amongst the most active members of the Royal
Institution; and the Edinburgh Review frequently published clever articles
signed by him. He was in fact one of those practical men to whom is due
the prosperity of England. He held a high rank in the old capital of
Scotland, which not only from a physical but also from a moral point of
view, well deserves the name of the Northern Athens.

We know that the English have given to their vast extent of coal-mines a
very significant name. They very justly call them the "Black Indies," and
these Indies have contributed perhaps even more than the Eastern Indies to
swell the surprising wealth of the United Kingdom.

At this period, the limit of time assigned by professional men for the
exhaustion of coal-mines was far distant and there was no dread of
scarcity. There were still extensive mines to be worked in the two
Americas. The manu-factories, appropriated to so many different uses,
locomotives, steamers, gas works, &c., were not likely to fail for
want of the mineral fuel; but the consumption had so increased during the
last few years, that certain beds had been exhausted even to their
smallest veins. Now deserted, these mines perforated the ground with their
useless shafts and forsaken galleries. This was exactly the case with the
pits of Aberfoyle.

Ten years before, the last butty had raised the last ton of coal from this
colliery. The underground working stock, traction engines, trucks which
run on rails along the galleries, subterranean tramways, frames to support
the shaft, pipes—in short, all that constituted the machinery of a
mine had been brought up from its depths. The exhausted mine was like the
body of a huge fantastically-shaped mastodon, from which all the organs of
life have been taken, and only the skeleton remains.

Nothing was left but long wooden ladders, down the Yarrow shaft—the
only one which now gave access to the lower galleries of the Dochart pit.
Above ground, the sheds, formerly sheltering the outside works, still
marked the spot where the shaft of that pit had been sunk, it being now
abandoned, as were the other pits, of which the whole constituted the
mines of Aberfoyle.

It was a sad day, when for the last time the workmen quitted the mine, in
which they had lived for so many years. The engineer, James Starr, had
collected the hundreds of workmen which composed the active and courageous
population of the mine. Overmen, brakemen, putters, wastemen, barrowmen,
masons, smiths, carpenters, outside and inside laborers, women, children,
and old men, all were collected in the great yard of the Dochart pit,
formerly heaped with coal from the mine.

Many of these families had existed for generations in the mine of old
Aberfoyle; they were now driven to seek the means of subsistence
elsewhere, and they waited sadly to bid farewell to the engineer.

James Starr stood upright, at the door of the vast shed in which he had
for so many years superintended the powerful machines of the shaft. Simon
Ford, the foreman of the Dochart pit, then fifty-five years of age, and
other managers and overseers, surrounded him. James Starr took off his
hat. The miners, cap in hand, kept a profound silence. This farewell scene
was of a touching character, not wanting in grandeur.

"My friends," said the engineer, "the time has come for us to separate.
The Aberfoyle mines, which for so many years have united us in a common
work, are now exhausted. All our researches have not led to the discovery
of a new vein, and the last block of coal has just been extracted from the
Dochart pit." And in confirmation of his words, James Starr pointed to a
lump of coal which had been kept at the bottom of a basket.

"This piece of coal, my friends," resumed James Starr, "is like the last
drop of blood which has flowed through the veins of the mine! We shall
keep it, as the first fragment of coal is kept, which was extracted a
hundred and fifty years ago from the bearings of Aberfoyle. Between these
two pieces, how many generations of workmen have succeeded each other in
our pits! Now, it is over! The last words which your engineer will address
to you are a farewell. You have lived in this mine, which your hands have
emptied. The work has been hard, but not without profit for you. Our great
family must disperse, and it is not probable that the future will ever
again unite the scattered members. But do not forget that we have lived
together for a long time, and that it will be the duty of the miners of
Aberfoyle to help each other. Your old masters will not forget you either.
When men have worked together, they must never be stranger to each other
again. We shall keep our eye on you, and wherever you go, our
recommendations shall follow you. Farewell then, my friends, and may
Heaven be with you!"

So saying, James Starr wrung the horny hand of the oldest miner, whose
eyes were dim with tears. Then the overmen of the different pits came
forward to shake hands with him, whilst the miners waved their caps,
shouting, "Farewell, James Starr, our master and our friend!"

This farewell would leave a lasting remembrance in all these honest
hearts. Slowly and sadly the population quitted the yard. The black soil
of the roads leading to the Dochart pit resounded for the last time to the
tread of miners' feet, and silence succeeded to the bustling life which
had till then filled the Aberfoyle mines.

One man alone remained by James Starr. This was the overman, Simon Ford.
Near him stood a boy, about fifteen years of age, who for some years
already had been employed down below.

James Starr and Simon Ford knew and esteemed each other well. "Good-by,
Simon," said the engineer.

"No, I tell you, it's TILL WE MEET AGAIN, Mr. Starr, and not Just
'good-by,'" returned the foreman. "Mark my words, Aberfoyle will see you
again!"

The engineer did not try to dispel the man's illusion. He patted Harry's
head, again wrung the father's hand, and left the mine.

All this had taken place ten years ago; but, notwithstanding the wish
which the overman had expressed to see him again, during that time Starr
had heard nothing of him. It was after ten years of separation that he got
this letter from Simon Ford, requesting him to take without delay the road
to the old Aberfoyle colliery.

A communication of an interesting nature, what could it be? Dochart pit.
Yarrow shaft! What recollections of the past these names brought back to
him! Yes, that was a fine time, that of work, of struggle,—the best
part of the engineer's life. Starr re-read his letter. He pondered over it
in all its bearings. He much regretted that just a line more had not been
added by Ford. He wished he had not been quite so laconic.

Was it possible that the old foreman had discovered some new vein? No!
Starr remembered with what minute care the mines had been explored before
the definite cessation of the works. He had himself proceeded to the
lowest soundings without finding the least trace in the soil, burrowed in
every direction. They had even attempted to find coal under strata which
are usually below it, such as the Devonian red sandstone, but without
result. James Starr had therefore abandoned the mine with the absolute
conviction that it did not contain another bit of coal.

"No," he repeated, "no! How is it possible that anything which could have
escaped my researches, should be revealed to those of Simon Ford. However,
the old overman must well know that such a discovery would be the one
thing in the world to interest me, and this invitation, which I must keep
secret, to repair to the Dochart pit!" James Starr always came back to
that.

On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner, peculiarly
endowed with the instinct of his trade. He had not seen him since the time
when the Aberfoyle colliery was abandoned, and did not know either what he
was doing or where he was living, with his wife and his son. All that he
now knew was, that a rendezvous had been appointed him at the Yarrow
shaft, and that Harry, Simon Ford's son, was to wait for him during the
whole of the next day at the Callander station.

"I shall go, I shall go!" said Starr, his excitement increasing as the
time drew near.

Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is always on
the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these brain kettles the
ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer quietly. Now on this day,
James Starr's ideas were boiling fast.

But suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. This was the drop of cold
water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of the brain.
About six in the evening, by the third post, Starr's servant brought him a
second letter. This letter was enclosed in a coarse envelope, and
evidently directed by a hand unaccustomed to the use of a pen. James Starr
tore it open. It contained only a scrap of paper, yellowed by time, and
apparently torn out of an old copy book.

On this paper was written a single sentence, thus worded:

"It is useless for the engineer James Starr to trouble himself, Simon
Ford's letter being now without object."

No signature.

CHAPTER II. ON THE ROAD

THE course of James Starr's ideas was abruptly stopped, when he got this
second letter contradicting the first.

"What does this mean?" said he to himself. He took up the torn envelope,
and examined it. Like the other, it bore the Aberfoyle postmark. It had
therefore come from the same part of the county of Stirling. The old miner
had evidently not written it. But, no less evidently, the author of this
second letter knew the overman's secret, since it expressly contradicted
the invitation to the engineer to go to the Yarrow shaft.

Was it really true that the first communication was now without object?
Did someone wish to prevent James Starr from troubling himself either
uselessly or otherwise? Might there not be rather a malevolent intention
to thwart Ford's plans?

This was the conclusion at which James Starr arrived, after mature
reflection. The contradiction which existed between the two letters only
wrought in him a more keen desire to visit the Dochart pit. And besides,
if after all it was a hoax, it was well worth while to prove it. Starr
also thought it wiser to give more credence to the first letter than to
the second; that is to say, to the request of such a man as Simon Ford,
rather than to the warning of his anonymous contradictor.

"Indeed," said he, "the fact of anyone endeavoring to influence my
resolution, shows that Ford's communication must be of great importance.
To-morrow, at the appointed time, I shall be at the rendezvous."

In the evening, Starr made his preparations for departure. As it might
happen that his absence would be prolonged for some days, he wrote to Sir
W. Elphiston, President of the Royal Institution, that he should be unable
to be present at the next meeting of the Society. He also wrote to excuse
himself from two or three engagements which he had made for the week.
Then, having ordered his servant to pack a traveling bag, he went to bed,
more excited than the affair perhaps warranted.

The next day, at five o'clock, James Starr jumped out of bed, dressed
himself warmly, for a cold rain was falling, and left his house in the
Canongate, to go to Granton Pier to catch the steamer, which in three
hours would take him up the Forth as far as Stirling.

For the first time in his life, perhaps, in passing along the Canongate,
he did NOT TURN TO LOOK AT HOLYROOD, the palace of the former sovereigns
of Scotland. He did not notice the sentinels who stood before its
gateways, dressed in the uniform of their Highland regiment, tartan kilt,
plaid and sporran complete. His whole thought was to reach Callander where
Harry Ford was supposedly awaiting him.

The better to understand this narrative, it will be as well to hear a few
words on the origin of coal. During the geological epoch, when the
terrestrial spheroid was still in course of formation, a thick atmosphere
surrounded it, saturated with watery vapors, and copiously impregnated
with carbonic acid. The vapors gradually condensed in diluvial rains,
which fell as if they had leapt from the necks of thousands of millions of
seltzer water bottles. This liquid, loaded with carbonic acid, rushed in
torrents over a deep soft soil, subject to sudden or slow alterations of
form, and maintained in its semi-fluid state as much by the heat of the
sun as by the fires of the interior mass. The internal heat had not as yet
been collected in the center of the globe. The terrestrial crust, thin and
incompletely hardened, allowed it to spread through its pores. This caused
a peculiar form of vegetation, such as is probably produced on the surface
of the inferior planets, Venus or Mercury, which revolve nearer than our
earth around the radiant sun of our system.

The soil of the continents was covered with immense forests. Carbonic
acid, so suitable for the development of the vegetable kingdom, abounded.
The feet of these trees were drowned in a sort of immense lagoon, kept
continually full by currents of fresh and salt waters. They eagerly
assimilated to themselves the carbon which they, little by little,
extracted from the atmosphere, as yet unfit for the function of life, and
it may be said that they were destined to store it, in the form of coal,
in the very bowels of the earth.

It was the earthquake period, caused by internal convulsions, which
suddenly modified the unsettled features of the terrestrial surface. Here,
an intumescence which was to become a mountain, there, an abyss which was
to be filled with an ocean or a sea. There, whole forests sunk through the
earth's crust, below the unfixed strata, either until they found a
resting-place, such as the primitive bed of granitic rock, or, settling
together in a heap, they formed a solid mass.

As the waters were contained in no bed, and were spread over every part of
the globe, they rushed where they liked, tearing from the scarcely-formed
rocks material with which to compose schists, sandstones, and limestones.
This the roving waves bore over the submerged and now peaty forests, and
deposited above them the elements of rocks which were to superpose the
coal strata. In course of time, periods of which include millions of
years, these earths hardened in layers, and enclosed under a thick
carapace of pudding-stone, schist, compact or friable sandstone, gravel
and stones, the whole of the massive forests.

And what went on in this gigantic crucible, where all this vegetable
matter had accumulated, sunk to various depths? A regular chemical
operation, a sort of distillation. All the carbon contained in these
vegetables had agglomerated, and little by little coal was forming under
the double influence of enormous pressure and the high temperature
maintained by the internal fires, at this time so close to it.

Thus there was one kingdom substituted for another in this slow but
irresistible reaction. The vegetable was transformed into a mineral.
Plants which had lived the vegetative life in all the vigor of first
creation became petrified. Some of the substances enclosed in this vast
herbal left their impression on the other more rapidly mineralized
products, which pressed them as an hydraulic press of incalculable power
would have done.

Thus also shells, zoophytes, star-fish, polypi, spirifores, even fish and
lizards brought by the water, left on the yet soft coal their exact
likeness, "admirably taken off."

Pressure seems to have played a considerable part in the formation of
carboniferous strata. In fact, it is to its degree of power that are due
the different sorts of coal, of which industry makes use. Thus in the
lowest layers of the coal ground appears the anthracite, which, being
almost destitute of volatile matter, contains the greatest quantity of
carbon. In the higher beds are found, on the contrary, lignite and fossil
wood, substances in which the quantity of carbon is infinitely less.
Between these two beds, according to the degree of pressure to which they
have been subjected, are found veins of graphite and rich or poor coal. It
may be asserted that it is for want of sufficient pressure that beds of
peaty bog have not been completely changed into coal. So then, the origin
of coal mines, in whatever part of the globe they have been discovered, is
this: the absorption through the terrestrial crust of the great forests of
the geological period; then, the mineralization of the vegetables obtained
in the course of time, under the influence of pressure and heat, and under
the action of carbonic acid.

Now, at the time when the events related in this story took place, some of
the most important mines of the Scottish coal beds had been exhausted by
too rapid working. In the region which extends between Edinburgh and
Glasgow, for a distance of ten or twelve miles, lay the Aberfoyle
colliery, of which the engineer, James Starr, had so long directed the
works. For ten years these mines had been abandoned. No new seams had been
discovered, although the soundings had been carried to a depth of fifteen
hundred or even of two thousand feet, and when James Starr had retired, it
was with the full conviction that even the smallest vein had been
completely exhausted.

Under these circumstances, it was plain that the discovery of a new seam
of coal would be an important event. Could Simon Ford's communication
relate to a fact of this nature? This question James Starr could not cease
asking himself. Was he called to make conquest of another corner of these
rich treasure fields? Fain would he hope it was so.

The second letter had for an instant checked his speculations on this
subject, but now he thought of that letter no longer. Besides, the son of
the old overman was there, waiting at the appointed rendezvous. The
anonymous letter was therefore worth nothing.

The moment the engineer set foot on the platform at the end of his
journey, the young man advanced towards him.

"Are you Harry Ford?" asked the engineer quickly.

"Yes, Mr. Starr."

"I should not have known you, my lad. Of course in ten years you have
become a man!"

"I knew you directly, sir," replied the young miner, cap in hand. "You
have not changed. You look just as you did when you bade us good-by in the
Dochart pit. I haven't forgotten that day."

"Put on your cap, Harry," said the engineer. "It's pouring, and politeness
needn't make you catch cold."

"Shall we take shelter anywhere, Mr. Starr?" asked young Ford.

"No, Harry. The weather is settled. It will rain all day, and I am in a
hurry. Let us go on."

"I am at your orders," replied Harry.

"Tell me, Harry, is your father well?"

"Very well, Mr. Starr."

"And your mother?"

"She is well, too."

"Was it your father who wrote telling me to come to the Yarrow shaft?"

"No, it was I."

"Then did Simon Ford send me a second letter to contradict the first?"
asked the engineer quickly.

"No, Mr. Starr," answered the young miner.

"Very well," said Starr, without speaking of the anonymous letter. Then,
continuing, "And can you tell me what you father wants with me?"

"Mr. Starr, my father wishes to tell you himself."

"But you know what it is?"

"I do, sir."

"Well, Harry, I will not ask you more. But let us get on, for I'm anxious
to see Simon Ford. By-the-bye, where does he live?"

"In the mine."

"What! In the Dochart pit?"

"Yes, Mr. Starr," replied Harry.

"Really! has your family never left the old mine since the cessation of
the works?"

"Not a day, Mr. Starr. You know my father. It is there he was born, it is
there he means to die!"

"I can understand that, Harry. I can understand that! His native mine! He
did not like to abandon it! And are you happy there?"

"Yes, Mr. Starr," replied the young miner, "for we love one another, and
we have but few wants."

"Well, Harry," said the engineer, "lead the way."

And walking rapidly through the streets of Callander, in a few minutes
they had left the town behind them.

CHAPTER III. THE DOCHART PIT

HARRY FORD was a fine, strapping fellow of five and twenty. His grave
looks, his habitually passive expression, had from childhood been noticed
among his comrades in the mine. His regular features, his deep blue eyes,
his curly hair, rather chestnut than fair, the natural grace of his
person, altogether made him a fine specimen of a lowlander. Accustomed
from his earliest days to the work of the mine, he was strong and hardy,
as well as brave and good. Guided by his father, and impelled by his own
inclinations, he had early begun his education, and at an age when most
lads are little more than apprentices, he had managed to make himself of
some importance, a leader, in fact, among his fellows, and few are very
ignorant in a country which does all it can to remove ignorance. Though,
during the first years of his youth, the pick was never out of Harry's
hand, nevertheless the young miner was not long in acquiring sufficient
knowledge to raise him into the upper class of the miners, and he would
certainly have succeeded his father as overman of the Dochart pit, if the
colliery had not been abandoned.

James Starr was still a good walker, yet he could not easily have kept up
with his guide, if the latter had not slackened his pace. The young man,
carrying the engineer's bag, followed the left bank of the river for about
a mile. Leaving its winding course, they took a road under tall, dripping
trees. Wide fields lay on either side, around isolated farms. In one field
a herd of hornless cows were quietly grazing; in another sheep with silky
wool, like those in a child's toy sheep fold.

The Yarrow shaft was situated four miles from Callander. Whilst walking,
James Starr could not but be struck with the change in the country. He had
not seen it since the day when the last ton of Aberfoyle coal had been
emptied into railway trucks to be sent to Glasgow. Agricultural life had
now taken the place of the more stirring, active, industrial life. The
contrast was all the greater because, during winter, field work is at a
standstill. But formerly, at whatever season, the mining population, above
and below ground, filled the scene with animation. Great wagons of coal
used to be passing night and day. The rails, with their rotten sleepers,
now disused, were then constantly ground by the weight of wagons. Now
stony roads took the place of the old mining tramways. James Starr felt as
if he was traversing a desert.

The engineer gazed about him with a saddened eye. He stopped now and then
to take breath. He listened. The air was no longer filled with distant
whistlings and the panting of engines. None of those black vapors which
the manufacturer loves to see, hung in the horizon, mingling with the
clouds. No tall cylindrical or prismatic chimney vomited out smoke, after
being fed from the mine itself; no blast-pipe was puffing out its white
vapor. The ground, formerly black with coal dust, had a bright look, to
which James Starr's eyes were not accustomed.

When the engineer stood still, Harry Ford stopped also. The young miner
waited in silence. He felt what was passing in his companion's mind, and
he shared his feelings; he, a child of the mine, whose whole life had been
passed in its depths.

"Yes, Harry, it is all changed," said Starr. "But at the rate we worked,
of course the treasures of coal would have been exhausted some day. Do you
regret that time?"

"I do regret it, Mr. Starr," answered Harry. "The work was hard, but it
was interesting, as are all struggles."

"No doubt, my lad. A continuous struggle against the dangers of landslips,
fires, inundations, explosions of firedamp, like claps of thunder. One had
to guard against all those perils! You say well! It was a struggle, and
consequently an exciting life."

"The miners of Alva have been more favored than the miners of Aberfoyle,
Mr. Starr!"

"Ay, Harry, so they have," replied the engineer.

"Indeed," cried the young man, "it's a pity that all the globe was not
made of coal; then there would have been enough to last millions of
years!"

"No doubt there would, Harry; it must be acknowledged, however, that
nature has shown more forethought by forming our sphere principally of
sandstone, limestone, and granite, which fire cannot consume."

"Do you mean to say, Mr. Starr, that mankind would have ended by burning
their own globe?"

"Yes! The whole of it, my lad," answered the engineer. "The earth would
have passed to the last bit into the furnaces of engines, machines,
steamers, gas factories; certainly, that would have been the end of our
world one fine day!"

"There is no fear of that now, Mr. Starr. But yet, the mines will be
exhausted, no doubt, and more rapidly than the statistics make out!"

"That will happen, Harry; and in my opinion England is very wrong in
exchanging her fuel for the gold of other nations! I know well," added the
engineer, "that neither hydraulics nor electricity has yet shown all they
can do, and that some day these two forces will be more completely
utilized. But no matter! Coal is of a very practical use, and lends itself
easily to the various wants of industry. Unfortunately man cannot produce
it at will. Though our external forests grow incessantly under the
influence of heat and water, our subterranean forests will not be
reproduced, and if they were, the globe would never be in the state
necessary to make them into coal."

James Starr and his guide, whilst talking, had continued their walk at a
rapid pace. An hour after leaving Callander they reached the Dochart pit.

The most indifferent person would have been touched at the appearance this
deserted spot presented. It was like the skeleton of something that had
formerly lived. A few wretched trees bordered a plain where the ground was
hidden under the black dust of the mineral fuel, but no cinders nor even
fragments of coal were to be seen. All had been carried away and consumed
long ago.

They walked into the shed which covered the opening of the Yarrow shaft,
whence ladders still gave access to the lower galleries of the pit. The
engineer bent over the opening. Formerly from this place could be heard
the powerful whistle of the air inhaled by the ventilators. It was now a
silent abyss. It was like being at the mouth of some extinct volcano.

When the mine was being worked, ingenious machines were used in certain
shafts of the Aberfoyle colliery, which in this respect was very well off;
frames furnished with automatic lifts, working in wooden slides,
oscillating ladders, called "man-engines," which, by a simple movement,
permitted the miners to descend without danger.

But all these appliances had been carried away, after the cessation of the
works. In the Yarrow shaft there remained only a long succession of
ladders, separated at every fifty feet by narrow landings. Thirty of these
ladders placed thus end to end led the visitor down into the lower
gallery, a depth of fifteen hundred feet. This was the only way of
communication which existed between the bottom of the Dochart pit and the
open air. As to air, that came in by the Yarrow shaft, from whence
galleries communicated with another shaft whose orifice opened at a higher
level; the warm air naturally escaped by this species of inverted siphon.

"I will follow you, my lad," said the engineer, signing to the young man
to precede him.

"As you please, Mr. Starr."

"Have you your lamp?"

"Yes, and I only wish it was still the safety lamp, which we formerly had
to use!"

"Sure enough," returned James Starr, "there is no fear of fire-damp
explosions now!"

Harry was provided with a simple oil lamp, the wick of which he lighted.
In the mine, now empty of coal, escapes of light carburetted hydrogen
could not occur. As no explosion need be feared, there was no necessity
for interposing between the flame and the surrounding air that metallic
screen which prevents the gas from catching fire. The Davy lamp was of no
use here. But if the danger did not exist, it was because the cause of it
had disappeared, and with this cause, the combustible in which formerly
consisted the riches of the Dochart pit.

Harry descended the first steps of the upper ladder. Starr followed. They
soon found themselves in a profound obscurity, which was only relieved by
the glimmer of the lamp. The young man held it above his head, the better
to light his companion. A dozen ladders were descended by the engineer and
his guide, with the measured step habitual to the miner. They were all
still in good condition.

James Starr examined, as well as the insufficient light would permit, the
sides of the dark shaft, which were covered by a partly rotten lining of
wood.

Arrived at the fifteenth landing, that is to say, half way down, they
halted for a few minutes.

"Decidedly, I have not your legs, my lad," said the engineer, panting.

"You are very stout, Mr. Starr," replied Harry, "and it's something too,
you see, to live all one's life in the mine."

"Right, Harry. Formerly, when I was twenty, I could have gone down all at
a breath. Come, forward!"

But just as the two were about to leave the platform, a voice, as yet far
distant, was heard in the depths of the shaft. It came up like a sonorous
billow, swelling as it advanced, and becoming more and more distinct.

"Halloo! who comes here?" asked the engineer, stopping Harry.

"I cannot say," answered the young miner.

"Is it not your father?"

"My father, Mr. Starr? no."

"Some neighbor, then?"

"We have no neighbors in the bottom of the pit," replied Harry. "We are
alone, quite alone."

"Well, we must let this intruder pass," said James Starr. "Those who are
descending must yield the path to those who are ascending."

They waited. The voice broke out again with a magnificent burst, as if it
had been carried through a vast speaking trumpet; and soon a few words of
a Scotch song came clearly to the ears of the young miner.

"The Hundred Pipers!" cried Harry. "Well, I shall be much surprised if
that comes from the lungs of any man but Jack Ryan."

"And who is this Jack Ryan?" asked James Starr.

"An old mining comrade," replied Harry. Then leaning from the platform,
"Halloo! Jack!" he shouted.

"Is that you, Harry?" was the reply. "Wait a bit, I'm coming." And the
song broke forth again.

In a few minutes, a tall fellow of five and twenty, with a merry face,
smiling eyes, a laughing mouth, and sandy hair, appeared at the bottom of
the luminous cone which was thrown from his lantern, and set foot on the
landing of the fifteenth ladder. His first act was to vigorously wring the
hand which Harry extended to him.

"Delighted to meet you!" he exclaimed. "If I had only known you were to be
above ground to-day, I would have spared myself going down the Yarrow
shaft!"

"This is Mr. James Starr," said Harry, turning his lamp towards the
engineer, who was in the shadow.

"Mr. Starr!" cried Jack Ryan. "Ah, sir, I could not see. Since I left the
mine, my eyes have not been accustomed to see in the dark, as they used to
do."

"Ah, I remember a laddie who was always singing. That was ten years ago.
It was you, no doubt?"

"Ay, Mr. Starr, but in changing my trade, I haven't changed my
disposition. It's far better to laugh and sing than to cry and whine!"

"You're right there, Jack Ryan. And what do you do now, as you have left
the mine?"

"I am working on the Melrose farm, forty miles from here. Ah, it's not
like our Aberfoyle mines! The pick comes better to my hand than the spade
or hoe. And then, in the old pit, there were vaulted roofs, to merrily
echo one's songs, while up above ground!—But you are going to see
old Simon, Mr. Starr?"

"Yes, Jack," answered the engineer.

"Don't let me keep you then."

"Tell me, Jack," said Harry, "what was taking you to our cottage to-day?"

"I wanted to see you, man," replied Jack, "and ask you to come to the
Irvine games. You know I am the piper of the place. There will be dancing
and singing."

"Thank you, Jack, but it's impossible."

"Impossible?"

"Yes; Mr. Starr's visit will last some time, and I must take him back to
Callander."

"Well, Harry, it won't be for a week yet. By that time Mr. Starr's visit
will be over, I should think, and there will be nothing to keep you at the
cottage."

"Indeed, Harry," said James Starr, "you must profit by your friend Jack's
invitation."

"Well, I accept it, Jack," said Harry. "In a week we will meet at Irvine."

"In a week, that's settled," returned Ryan. "Good-by, Harry! Your servant,
Mr. Starr. I am very glad to have seen you again! I can give news of you
to all my friends. No one has forgotten you, sir."

"And I have forgotten no one," said Starr.

"Thanks for all, sir," replied Jack.

"Good-by, Jack," said Harry, shaking his hand. And Jack Ryan, singing as
he went, soon disappeared in the heights of the shaft, dimly lighted by
his lamp.

A quarter of an hour afterwards James Starr and Harry descended the last
ladder, and set foot on the lowest floor of the pit.

From the bottom of the Yarrow shaft radiated numerous empty galleries.
They ran through the wall of schist and sandstone, some shored up with
great, roughly-hewn beams, others lined with a thick casing of wood. In
every direction embankments supplied the place of the excavated veins.
Artificial pillars were made of stone from neighboring quarries, and now
they supported the ground, that is to say, the double layer of tertiary
and quaternary soil, which formerly rested on the seam itself. Darkness
now filled the galleries, formerly lighted either by the miner's lamp or
by the electric light, the use of which had been introduced in the mines.

"Will you not rest a while, Mr. Starr?" asked the young man.

"No, my lad," replied the engineer, "for I am anxious to be at your
father's cottage."

"Follow me then, Mr. Starr. I will guide you, and yet I daresay you could
find your way perfectly well through this dark labyrinth."

"Yes, indeed! I have the whole plan of the old pit still in my head."

Harry, followed by the engineer, and holding his lamp high the better to
light their way, walked along a high gallery, like the nave of a
cathedral. Their feet still struck against the wooden sleepers which used
to support the rails.

They had not gone more than fifty paces, when a huge stone fell at the
feet of James Starr. "Take care, Mr. Starr!" cried Harry, seizing the
engineer by the arm.

"A stone, Harry! Ah! these old vaultings are no longer quite secure, of
course, and—"

"Mr. Starr," said Harry Ford, "it seems to me that stone was thrown,
thrown as by the hand of man!"

"Thrown!" exclaimed James Starr. "What do you mean, lad?"

"Nothing, nothing, Mr. Starr," replied Harry evasively, his anxious gaze
endeavoring to pierce the darkness. "Let us go on. Take my arm, sir, and
don't be afraid of making a false step."

"Here I am, Harry." And they both advanced, whilst Harry looked on every
side, throwing the light of his lamp into all the corners of the gallery.

"Shall we soon be there?" asked the engineer.

"In ten minutes at most."

"Good."

"But," muttered Harry, "that was a most singular thing. It is the first
time such an accident has happened to me.

"That stone falling just at the moment we were passing."

"Harry, it was a mere chance."

"Chance," replied the young man, shaking his head. "Yes, chance." He
stopped and listened.

"What is the matter, Harry?" asked the engineer.

"I thought I heard someone walking behind us," replied the young miner,
listening more attentively. Then he added, "No, I must have been mistaken.
Lean harder on my arm, Mr. Starr. Use me like a staff."

"A good solid staff, Harry," answered James Starr. "I could not wish for a
better than a fine fellow like you."

They continued in silence along the dark nave. Harry was evidently
preoccupied, and frequently turned, trying to catch, either some distant
noise, or remote glimmer of light.

But behind and before, all was silence and darkness.

CHAPTER IV. THE FORD FAMILY

TEN minutes afterwards, James Starr and Harry issued from the principal
gallery. They were now standing in a glade, if we may use this word to
designate a vast and dark excavation. The place, however, was not entirely
deprived of daylight. A few rays straggled in through the opening of a
deserted shaft. It was by means of this pipe that ventilation was
established in the Dochart pit. Owing to its lesser density, the warm air
was drawn towards the Yarrow shaft. Both air and light, therefore,
penetrated in some measure into the glade.

Here Simon Ford had lived with his family ten years, in a subterranean
dwelling, hollowed out in the schistous mass, where formerly stood the
powerful engines which worked the mechanical traction of the Dochart pit.

Such was the habitation, "his cottage," as he called it, in which resided
the old overman. As he had some means saved during a long life of toil,
Ford could have afforded to live in the light of day, among trees, or in
any town of the kingdom he chose, but he and his wife and son preferred
remaining in the mine, where they were happy together, having the same
opinions, ideas, and tastes. Yes, they were quite fond of their cottage,
buried fifteen hundred feet below Scottish soil. Among other advantages,
there was no fear that tax gatherers, or rent collectors would ever come
to trouble its inhabitants.

At this period, Simon Ford, the former overman of the Dochart pit, bore
the weight of sixty-five years well. Tall, robust, well-built, he would
have been regarded as one of the most conspicuous men in the district
which supplies so many fine fellows to the Highland regiments.

Simon Ford was descended from an old mining family, and his ancestors had
worked the very first carboniferous seams opened in Scotland. Without
discussing whether or not the Greeks and Romans made use of coal, whether
the Chinese worked coal mines before the Christian era, whether the French
word for coal (HOUILLE) is really derived from the farrier Houillos, who
lived in Belgium in the twelfth century, we may affirm that the beds in
Great Britain were the first ever regularly worked. So early as the
eleventh century, William the Conqueror divided the produce of the
Newcastle bed among his companions-in-arms. At the end of the thirteenth
century, a license for the mining of "sea coal" was granted by Henry III.
Lastly, towards the end of the same century, mention is made of the Scotch
and Welsh beds.

It was about this time that Simon Ford's ancestors penetrated into the
bowels of Caledonian earth, and lived there ever after, from father to
son. They were but plain miners. They labored like convicts at the work of
extracting the precious combustible. It is even believed that the coal
miners, like the salt-makers of that period, were actual slaves.

However that might have been, Simon Ford was proud of belonging to this
ancient family of Scotch miners. He had worked diligently in the same
place where his ancestors had wielded the pick, the crowbar, and the
mattock. At thirty he was overman of the Dochart pit, the most important
in the Aberfoyle colliery. He was devoted to his trade. During long years
he zealously performed his duty. His only grief had been to perceive the
bed becoming impoverished, and to see the hour approaching when the seam
would be exhausted.

It was then he devoted himself to the search for new veins in all the
Aberfoyle pits, which communicated underground one with another. He had
had the good luck to discover several during the last period of the
working. His miner's instinct assisted him marvelously, and the engineer,
James Starr, appreciated him highly. It might be said that he divined the
course of seams in the depths of the coal mine as a hydroscope reveals
springs in the bowels of the earth. He was par excellence the type of a
miner whose whole existence is indissolubly connected with that of his
mine. He had lived there from his birth, and now that the works were
abandoned he wished to live there still. His son Harry foraged for the
subterranean housekeeping; as for himself, during those ten years he had
not been ten times above ground.

"Go up there! What is the good?" he would say, and refused to leave his
black domain. The place was remarkably healthy, subject to an equable
temperature; the old overman endured neither the heat of summer nor the
cold of winter. His family enjoyed good health; what more could he desire?

But at heart he felt depressed. He missed the former animation, movement,
and life in the well-worked pit. He was, however, supported by one fixed
idea. "No, no! the mine is not exhausted!" he repeated.

And that man would have given serious offense who could have ventured to
express before Simon Ford any doubt that old Aberfoyle would one day
revive! He had never given up the hope of discovering some new bed which
would restore the mine to its past splendor. Yes, he would willingly, had
it been necessary, have resumed the miner's pick, and with his still stout
arms vigorously attacked the rock. He went through the dark galleries,
sometimes alone, sometimes with his son, examining, searching for signs of
coal, only to return each day, wearied, but not in despair, to the
cottage.

Madge, Simon's faithful companion, his "gude-wife," to use the Scotch
term, was a tall, strong, comely woman. Madge had no wish to leave the
Dochart pit any more than had her husband. She shared all his hopes and
regrets. She encouraged him, she urged him on, and talked to him in a way
which cheered the heart of the old overman. "Aberfoyle is only asleep,"
she would say. "You are right about that, Simon. This is but a rest, it is
not death!"

Madge, as well as the others, was perfectly satisfied to live independent
of the outer world, and was the center of the happiness enjoyed by the
little family in their dark cottage.

The engineer was eagerly expected. Simon Ford was standing at his door,
and as soon as Harry's lamp announced the arrival of his former viewer he
advanced to meet him.

"Welcome, Mr. Starr!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing under the roof of
schist. "Welcome to the old overman's cottage! Though it is buried fifteen
hundred feet under the earth, our house is not the less hospitable."

"And how are you, good Simon?" asked James Starr, grasping the hand which
his host held out to him.

"Very well, Mr. Starr. How could I be otherwise here, sheltered from the
inclemencies of the weather? Your ladies who go to Newhaven or Portobello
in the summer time would do much better to pass a few months in the coal
mine of Aberfoyle! They would run no risk here of catching a heavy cold,
as they do in the damp streets of the old capital."

"I'm not the man to contradict you, Simon," answered James Starr, glad to
find the old man just as he used to be. "Indeed, I wonder why I do not
change my home in the Canongate for a cottage near you."

"And why not, Mr. Starr? I know one of your old miners who would be truly
pleased to have only a partition wall between you and him."

"And how is Madge?" asked the engineer.

"The goodwife is in better health than I am, if that's possible," replied
Ford, "and it will be a pleasure to her to see you at her table. I think
she will surpass herself to do you honor."

"We shall see that, Simon, we shall see that!" said the engineer, to whom
the announcement of a good breakfast could not be indifferent, after his
long walk.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Starr?"

"Ravenously hungry. My journey has given me an appetite. I came through
horrible weather."

"Ah, it is raining up there," responded Simon Ford.

"Yes, Simon, and the waters of the Forth are as rough as the sea."

"Well, Mr. Starr, here it never rains. But I needn't describe to you all
the advantages, which you know as well as myself. Here we are at the
cottage. That is the chief thing, and I again say you are welcome, sir."

Simon Ford, followed by Harry, ushered their guest into the dwelling.
James Starr found himself in a large room lighted by numerous lamps, one
hanging from the colored beams of the roof.

"The soup is ready, wife," said Ford, "and it mustn't be kept waiting any
more than Mr. Starr. He is as hungry as a miner, and he shall see that our
boy doesn't let us want for anything in the cottage! By-the-bye, Harry,"
added the old overman, turning to his son, "Jack Ryan came here to see
you."

"I know, father. We met him in the Yarrow shaft."

"He's an honest and a merry fellow," said Ford; "but he seems to be quite
happy above ground. He hasn't the true miner's blood in his veins. Sit
down, Mr. Starr, and have a good dinner, for we may not sup till late."

As the engineer and his hosts were taking their places:

"One moment, Simon," said James Starr. "Do you want me to eat with a good
appetite?"

"It will be doing us all possible honor, Mr. Starr," answered Ford.

"Well, in order to eat heartily, I must not be at all anxious. Now I have
two questions to put to you."

"Go on, sir."

"Your letter told me of a communication which was to be of an interesting
nature."

"It is very interesting indeed."

"To you?"

"To you and to me, Mr. Starr. But I do not want to tell it you until after
dinner, and on the very spot itself. Without that you would not believe
me."

"Simon," resumed the engineer, "look me straight in the face. An
interesting communication? Yes. Good! I will not ask more," he added, as
if he had read the reply in the old overman's eyes.

"And the second question?" asked the latter.

"Do you know, Simon, who the person is who can have written this?"
answered the engineer, handing him the anonymous letter.

Ford took the letter and read it attentively. Then giving it to his son,
"Do you know the writing?" he asked.

"No, father," replied Harry.

"And had this letter the Aberfoyle postmark?" inquired Simon Ford.

"Yes, like yours," replied James Starr.

"What do you think of that, Harry?" said his father, his brow darkening.

"I think, father," returned Harry, "that someone has had some interest in
trying to prevent Mr. Starr from coming to the place where you invited
him."

"But who," exclaimed the old miner, "who could have possibly guessed
enough of my secret?" And Simon fell into a reverie, from which he was
aroused by his wife.

"Let us begin, Mr. Starr," she said. "The soup is already getting cold.
Don't think any more of that letter just now."

On the old woman's invitation, each drew in his chair, James Starr
opposite to Madge—to do him honor—the father and son opposite
to each other. It was a good Scotch dinner. First they ate "hotchpotch,"
soup with the meat swimming in capital broth. As old Simon said, his wife
knew no rival in the art of preparing hotchpotch. It was the same with the
"cockyleeky," a cock stewed with leeks, which merited high praise. The
whole was washed down with excellent ale, obtained from the best brewery
in Edinburgh.

But the principal dish consisted of a "haggis," the national pudding, made
of meat and barley meal. This remarkable dish, which inspired the poet
Burns with one of his best odes, shared the fate of all the good things in
this world—it passed away like a dream.

Madge received the sincere compliments of her guest. The dinner ended with
cheese and oatcake, accompanied by a few small glasses of "usquebaugh,"
capital whisky, five and twenty years old—just Harry's age. The
repast lasted a good hour. James Starr and Simon Ford had not only eaten
much, but talked much too, chiefly of their past life in the old Aberfoyle
mine.

Harry had been rather silent. Twice he had left the table, and even the
house. He evidently felt uneasy since the incident of the stone, and
wished to examine the environs of the cottage. The anonymous letter had
not contributed to reassure him.

Whilst he was absent, the engineer observed to Ford and his wife, "That's
a fine lad you have there, my friends."

"Yes, Mr. Starr, he is a good and affectionate son," replied the old
overman earnestly.

"Is he happy with you in the cottage?"

"He would not wish to leave us."

"Don't you think of finding him a wife, some day?"

"A wife for Harry," exclaimed Ford. "And who would it be? A girl from up
yonder, who would love merry-makings and dancing, who would prefer her
clan to our mine! Harry wouldn't do it!"

"Simon," said Madge, "you would not forbid that Harry should take a wife."

"I would forbid nothing," returned the old miner, "but there's no hurry
about that. Who knows but we may find one for him—"

Harry re-entered at that moment, and Simon Ford was silent.

When Madge rose from the table, all followed her example, and seated
themselves at the door of the cottage. "Well, Simon," said the engineer,
"I am ready to hear you."

"Are you going to take safety lamps!" exclaimed James Starr, in amazement,
knowing that there was no fear of explosions of fire-damp in a pit quite
empty of coal.

"Yes, Mr. Starr, it will be prudent."

"My good Simon, won't you propose next to put me in a miner's dress?"

"Not just yet, sir, not just yet!" returned the old overman, his deep-set
eyes gleaming strangely.

Harry soon reappeared, carrying three safety lamps. He handed one of these
to the engineer, the other to his father, and kept the third hanging from
his left hand, whilst his right was armed with a long stick.

"Forward!" said Simon Ford, taking up a strong pick, which was leaning
against the wall of the cottage.

"Forward!" echoed the engineer. "Good-by, Madge."

"GOD speed you!" responded the good woman.

"A good supper, wife, do you hear?" exclaimed Ford. "We shall be hungry
when we come back, and will do it justice!"

CHAPTER V. SOME STRANGE PHENOMENA

MANY superstitious beliefs exist both in the Highlands and Lowlands of
Scotland. Of course the mining population must furnish its contingent of
legends and fables to this mythological repertory. If the fields are
peopled with imaginary beings, either good or bad, with much more reason
must the dark mines be haunted to their lowest depths. Who shakes the seam
during tempestuous nights? who puts the miners on the track of an as yet
unworked vein? who lights the fire-damp, and presides over the terrible
explosions? who but some spirit of the mine? This, at least, was the
opinion commonly spread among the superstitious Scotch.

In the first rank of the believers in the supernatural in the Dochart pit
figured Jack Ryan, Harry's friend. He was the great partisan of all these
superstitions. All these wild stories were turned by him into songs, which
earned him great applause in the winter evenings.

But Jack Ryan was not alone in his belief. His comrades affirmed, no less
strongly, that the Aberfoyle pits were haunted, and that certain strange
beings were seen there frequently, just as in the Highlands. To hear them
talk, it would have been more extraordinary if nothing of the kind
appeared. Could there indeed be a better place than a dark and deep coal
mine for the freaks of fairies, elves, goblins, and other actors in the
fantastical dramas? The scenery was all ready, why should not the
supernatural personages come there to play their parts?

So reasoned Jack Ryan and his comrades in the Aberfoyle mines. We have
said that the different pits communicated with each other by means of long
subterranean galleries. Thus there existed beneath the county of Stirling
a vast tract, full of burrows, tunnels, bored with caves, and perforated
with shafts, a subterranean labyrinth, which might be compared to an
enormous ant-hill.

Miners, though belonging to different pits, often met, when going to or
returning from their work. Consequently there was a constant opportunity
of exchanging talk, and circulating the stories which had their origin in
the mine, from one pit to another. These accounts were transmitted with
marvelous rapidity, passing from mouth to mouth, and gaining in wonder as
they went.

Two men, however, better educated and with more practical minds than the
rest, had always resisted this temptation. They in no degree believed in
the intervention of spirits, elves, or goblins. These two were Simon Ford
and his son. And they proved it by continuing to inhabit the dismal crypt,
after the desertion of the Dochart pit. Perhaps good Madge, like every
Highland woman, had some leaning towards the supernatural. But she had to
repeat all these stories to herself, and so she did, most conscientiously,
so as not to let the old traditions be lost.

Even had Simon and Harry Ford been as credulous as their companions, they
would not have abandoned the mine to the imps and fairies. For ten years,
without missing a single day, obstinate and immovable in their
convictions, the father and son took their picks, their sticks, and their
lamps. They went about searching, sounding the rock with a sharp blow,
listening if it would return a favor-able sound. So long as the soundings
had not been pushed to the granite of the primary formation, the Fords
were agreed that the search, unsuccessful to-day, might succeed to-morrow,
and that it ought to be resumed. They spent their whole life in
endeavoring to bring Aberfoyle back to its former prosperity. If the
father died before the hour of success, the son was to go on with the task
alone.

It was during these excursions that Harry was more particularly struck by
certain phenomena, which he vainly sought to explain. Several times, while
walking along some narrow cross-alley, he seemed to hear sounds similar to
those which would be produced by violent blows of a pickax against the
wall.

Harry hastened to seek the cause of this mysterious work. The tunnel was
empty. The light from the young miner's lamp, thrown on the wall, revealed
no trace of any recent work with pick or crowbar. Harry would then ask
himself if it was not the effect of some acoustic illusion, or some
strange and fantastic echo. At other times, on suddenly throwing a bright
light into a suspicious-looking cleft in the rock, he thought he saw a
shadow. He rushed forward. Nothing, and there was no opening to permit a
human being to evade his pursuit!

Twice in one month, Harry, whilst visiting the west end of the pit,
distinctly heard distant reports, as if some miner had exploded a charge
of dynamite. The second time, after many careful researches, he found that
a pillar had just been blown up.

By the light of his lamp, Harry carefully examined the place attacked by
the explosion. It had not been made in a simple embankment of stones, but
in a mass of schist, which had penetrated to this depth in the coal
stratum. Had the object of the explosion been to discover a new vein? Or
had someone wished simply to destroy this portion of the mine? Thus he
questioned, and when he made known this occurrence to his father, neither
could the old overman nor he himself answer the question in a satisfactory
way.

"It is very queer," Harry often repeated. "The presence of an unknown
being in the mine seems impossible, and yet there can be no doubt about
it. Does someone besides ourselves wish to find out if a seam yet exists?
Or, rather, has he attempted to destroy what remains of the Aberfoyle
mines? But for what reason? I will find that out, if it should cost me my
life!"

A fortnight before the day on which Harry Ford guided the engineer through
the labyrinth of the Dochart pit, he had been on the point of attaining
the object of his search. He was going over the southwest end of the mine,
with a large lantern in his hand. All at once, it seemed to him that a
light was suddenly extinguished, some hundred feet before him, at the end
of a narrow passage cut obliquely through the rock. He darted forward.

His search was in vain. As Harry would not admit a supernatural
explanation for a physical occurrence, he concluded that certainly some
strange being prowled about in the pit. But whatever he could do,
searching with the greatest care, scrutinizing every crevice in the
gallery, he found nothing for his trouble.

If Jack Ryan and the other superstitious fellows in the mine had seen
these lights, they would, without fail, have called them supernatural, but
Harry did not dream of doing so, nor did his father. And when they talked
over these phenomena, evidently due to a physical cause, "My lad," the old
man would say, "we must wait. It will all be explained some day."

However, it must be observed that, hitherto, neither Harry nor his father
had ever been exposed to any act of violence. If the stone which had
fallen at the feet of James Starr had been thrown by the hand of some
ill-disposed person, it was the first criminal act of that description.

James Starr was of opinion that the stone had become detached from the
roof of the gallery; but Harry would not admit of such a simple
explanation. According to him, the stone had not fallen, it had been
thrown; for otherwise, without rebounding, it could never have described a
trajectory as it did.

Harry saw in it a direct attempt against himself and his father, or even
against the engineer.

CHAPTER VI. SIMON FORD'S EXPERIMENT

THE old clock in the cottage struck one as James Starr and his two
companions went out. A dim light penetrated through the ventilating shaft
into the glade. Harry's lamp was not necessary here, but it would very
soon be of use, for the old overman was about to conduct the engineer to
the very end of the Dochart pit.

After following the principal gallery for a distance of two miles, the
three explorers—for, as will be seen, this was a regular exploration—arrived
at the entrance of a narrow tunnel. It was like a nave, the roof of which
rested on woodwork, covered with white moss. It followed very nearly the
line traced by the course of the river Forth, fifteen hundred feet above.

"So we are going to the end of the last vein?" said James Starr.

"Ay! You know the mine well still."

"Well, Simon," returned the engineer, "it will be difficult to go further
than that, if I don't mistake."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Starr. That was where our picks tore out the last bit of
coal in the seam. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I myself gave
that last blow, and it re-echoed in my heart more dismally than on the
rock. Only sandstone and schist were round us after that, and when the
truck rolled towards the shaft, I followed, with my heart as full as
though it were a funeral. It seemed to me that the soul of the mine was
going with it."

The gravity with which the old man uttered these words impressed the
engineer, who was not far from sharing his sentiments. They were those of
the sailor who leaves his disabled vessel—of the proprietor who sees
the house of his ancestors pulled down. He pressed Ford's hand; but now
the latter seized that of the engineer, and, wringing it:

"That day we were all of us mistaken," he exclaimed. "No! The old mine was
not dead. It was not a corpse that the miners abandoned; and I dare to
assert, Mr. Starr, that its heart beats still."

"Speak, Ford! Have you discovered a new vein?" cried the engineer, unable
to contain himself. "I know you have! Your letter could mean nothing
else."

"Mr. Starr," said Simon Ford, "I did not wish to tell any man but
yourself."

"And you did quite right, Ford. But tell me how, by what signs, are you
sure?"

"Listen, sir!" resumed Simon. "It is not a seam that I have found."

"What is it, then?"

"Only positive proof that such a seam exists."

"And the proof?"

"Could fire-damp issue from the bowels of the earth if coal was not there
to produce it?"

"No, certainly not!" replied the engineer. "No coal, no fire-damp. No
effects without a cause."

"Just as no smoke without fire."

"And have you recognized the presence of light carburetted hydrogen?"

"An old miner could not be deceived," answered Ford. "I have met with our
old enemy, the fire-damp!"

"But suppose it was another gas," said Starr. "Firedamp is almost without
smell, and colorless. It only really betrays its presence by an
explosion."

"Mr. Starr," said Simon Ford, "will you let me tell you what I have done?
Harry had once or twice observed something remarkable in his excursions to
the west end of the mine. Fire, which suddenly went out, sometimes
appeared along the face of the rock or on the embankment of the further
galleries. How those flames were lighted, I could not and cannot say. But
they were evidently owing to the presence of fire-damp, and to me
fire-damp means a vein of coal."

"Did not these fires cause any explosion?" asked the engineer quickly.

"Yes, little partial explosions," replied Ford, "such as I used to cause
myself when I wished to ascertain the presence of fire-damp. Do you
remember how formerly it was the custom to try to prevent explosions
before our good genius, Humphry Davy, invented his safety-lamp?"

"Yes," replied James Starr. "You mean what the 'monk,' as the men called
him, used to do. But I have never seen him in the exercise of his duty."

"Indeed, Mr. Starr, you are too young, in spite of your five-and-fifty
years, to have seen that. But I, ten years older, often saw the last
'monk' working in the mine. He was called so because he wore a long robe
like a monk. His proper name was the 'fireman.' At that time there was no
other means of destroying the bad gas but by dispersing it in little
explosions, before its buoyancy had collected it in too great quantities
in the heights of the galleries. The monk, as we called him, with his face
masked, his head muffled up, all his body tightly wrapped in a thick felt
cloak, crawled along the ground. He could breathe down there, when the air
was pure; and with his right hand he waved above his head a blazing torch.
When the firedamp had accumulated in the air, so as to form a detonating
mixture, the explosion occurred without being fatal, and, by often
renewing this operation, catastrophes were prevented. Sometimes the 'monk'
was injured or killed in his work, then another took his place. This was
done in all mines until the Davy lamp was universally adopted. But I knew
the plan, and by its means I discovered the presence of firedamp and
consequently that of a new seam of coal in the Dochart pit."

All that the old overman had related of the so-called "monk" or "fireman"
was perfectly true. The air in the galleries of mines was formerly always
purified in the way described.

Fire-damp, marsh-gas, or carburetted hydrogen, is colorless, almost
scentless; it burns with a blue flame, and makes respiration impossible.
The miner could not live in a place filled with this injurious gas, any
more than one could live in a gasometer full of common gas. Moreover,
fire-damp, as well as the latter, a mixture of inflammable gases, forms a
detonating mixture as soon as the air unites with it in a proportion of
eight, and perhaps even five to the hundred. When this mixture is lighted
by any cause, there is an explosion, almost always followed by a frightful
catastrophe.

As they walked on, Simon Ford told the engineer all that he had done to
attain his object; how he was sure that the escape of fire-damp took place
at the very end of the farthest gallery in its western part, because he
had provoked small and partial explosions, or rather little flames, enough
to show the nature of the gas, which escaped in a small jet, but with a
continuous flow.

An hour after leaving the cottage, James Starr and his two companions had
gone a distance of four miles. The engineer, urged by anxiety and hope,
walked on without noticing the length of the way. He pondered over all
that the old miner had told him, and mentally weighed all the arguments
which the latter had given in support of his belief. He agreed with him in
thinking that the continued emission of carburetted hydrogen certainly
showed the existence of a new coal-seam. If it had been merely a sort of
pocket, full of gas, as it is sometimes found amongst the rock, it would
soon have been empty, and the phenomenon have ceased. But far from that.
According to Simon Ford, the fire-damp escaped incessantly, and from that
fact the existence of an important vein might be considered certain.
Consequently, the riches of the Dochart pit were not entirely exhausted.
The chief question now was, whether this was merely a vein which would
yield comparatively little, or a bed occupying a large extent.

Harry, who preceded his father and the engineer, stopped.

"Here we are!" exclaimed the old miner. "At last, thank Heaven! you are
here, Mr. Starr, and we shall soon know." The old overman's voice trembled
slightly.

"Be calm, my man!" said the engineer. "I am as excited as you are, but we
must not lose time."

The gallery at this end of the pit widened into a sort of dark cave. No
shaft had been pierced in this part, and the gallery, bored into the
bowels of the earth, had no direct communication with the surface of the
earth.

James Starr, with intense interest, examined the place in which they were
standing. On the walls of the cavern the marks of the pick could still be
seen, and even holes in which the rock had been blasted, near the
termination of the working. The schist was excessively hard, and it had
not been necessary to bank up the end of the tunnel where the works had
come to an end. There the vein had failed, between the schist and the
tertiary sandstone. From this very place had been extracted the last piece
of coal from the Dochart pit.

"We must attack the dyke," said Ford, raising his pick; "for at the other
side of the break, at more or less depth, we shall assuredly find the
vein, the existence of which I assert."

"And was it on the surface of these rocks that you found out the
fire-damp?" asked James Starr.

"Just there, sir," returned Ford, "and I was able to light it only by
bringing my lamp near to the cracks in the rock. Harry has done it as well
as I."

"At what height?" asked Starr.

"Ten feet from the ground," replied Harry.

James Starr had seated himself on a rock. After critically inhaling the
air of the cavern, he gazed at the two miners, almost as if doubting their
words, decided as they were. In fact, carburetted hydrogen is not
completely scentless, and the engineer, whose sense of smell was very
keen, was astonished that it had not revealed the presence of the
explosive gas. At any rate, if the gas had mingled at all with the
surrounding air, it could only be in a very small stream. There was no
danger of an explosion, and they might without fear open the safety lamp
to try the experiment, just as the old miner had done before.

What troubled James Starr was, not lest too much gas mingled with the air,
but lest there should be little or none.

"Could they have been mistaken?" he murmured. "No: these men know what
they are about. And yet—"

He waited, not without some anxiety, until Simon Ford's phenomenon should
have taken place. But just then it seemed that Harry, like himself, had
remarked the absence of the characteristic odor of fire-damp; for he
exclaimed in an altered voice, "Father, I should say the gas was no longer
escaping through the cracks!"

"No longer!" cried the old miner—and, pressing his lips tight
together, he snuffed the air several times.

Then, all at once, with a sudden movement, "Hand me your lamp, Harry," he
said.

Ford took the lamp with a trembling hand. He drew off the wire gauze case
which surrounded the wick, and the flame burned in the open air.

As they had expected, there was no explosion, but, what was more serious,
there was not even the slight crackling which indicates the presence of a
small quantity of firedamp. Simon took the stick which Harry was holding,
fixed his lamp to the end of it, and raised it high above his head, up to
where the gas, by reason of its buoyancy, would naturally accumulate. The
flame of the lamp, burning straight and clear, revealed no trace of the
carburetted hydrogen.

"Close to the wall," said the engineer.

"Yes," responded Ford, carrying the lamp to that part of the wall at which
he and his son had, the evening before, proved the escape of gas.

The old miner's arm trembled whilst he tried to hoist the lamp up. "Take
my place, Harry," said he.

Harry took the stick, and successively presented the lamp to the different
fissures in the rock; but he shook his head, for of that slight crackling
peculiar to escaping fire-damp he heard nothing. There was no flame.
Evidently not a particle of gas was escaping through the rock.

"Nothing!" cried Ford, clenching his fist with a gesture rather of anger
than disappointment.

A cry escaped Harry.

"What's the matter?" asked Starr quickly.

"Someone has stopped up the cracks in the schist!"

"Is that true?" exclaimed the old miner.

"Look, father!" Harry was not mistaken. The obstruction of the fissures
was clearly visible by the light of the lamp. It had been recently done
with lime, leaving on the rock a long whitish mark, badly concealed with
coal dust.

"It's he!" exclaimed Harry. "It can only be he!"

"He?" repeated James Starr in amazement.

"Yes!" returned the young man, "that mysterious being who haunts our
domain, for whom I have watched a hundred times without being able to get
at him—the author, we may now be certain, of that letter which was
intended to hinder you from coming to see my father, Mr. Starr, and who
finally threw that stone at us in the gallery of the Yarrow shaft! Ah!
there's no doubt about it; there is a man's hand in all that!"

Harry spoke with such energy that conviction came instantly and fully to
the engineer's mind. As to the old overman, he was already convinced.
Besides, there they were in the presence of an undeniable fact—the
stopping-up of cracks through which gas had escaped freely the night
before.

"Take your pick, Harry," cried Ford; "mount on my shoulders, my lad! I am
still strong enough to bear you!" The young man understood in an instant.
His father propped himself up against the rock. Harry got upon his
shoulders, so that with his pick he could reach the line of the fissure.
Then with quick sharp blows he attacked it. Almost directly afterwards a
slight sound was heard, like champagne escaping from a bottle—a
sound commonly expressed by the word "puff."

Harry again seized his lamp, and held it to the opening. There was a
slight report; and a little red flame, rather blue at its outline,
flickered over the rock like a Will-o'-the-Wisp.

Harry leaped to the ground, and the old overman, unable to contain his
joy, grasped the engineer's hands, exclaiming, "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Mr. Starr. The fire-damp burns! the vein is there!"

CHAPTER VII. NEW ABERFOYLE

THE old overman's experiment had succeeded. Firedamp, it is well known, is
only generated in coal seams; therefore the existence of a vein of
precious combustible could no longer be doubted. As to its size and
quality, that must be determined later.

"Yes," thought James Starr, "behind that wall lies a carboniferous bed,
undiscovered by our soundings. It is vexatious that all the apparatus of
the mine, deserted for ten years, must be set up anew. Never mind. We have
found the vein which was thought to be exhausted, and this time it shall
be worked to the end!"

"Well, Mr. Starr," asked Ford, "what do you think of our discovery? Was I
wrong to trouble you? Are you sorry to have paid this visit to the Dochart
pit?"

"No, no, my old friend!" answered Starr. "We have not lost our time; but
we shall be losing it now, if we do not return immediately to the cottage.
To-morrow we will come back here. We will blast this wall with dynamite.
We will lay open the new vein, and after a series of soundings, if the
seam appears to be large, I will form a new Aberfoyle Company, to the
great satisfaction of the old shareholders. Before three months have
passed, the first corves full of coal will have been taken from the new
vein."

"Well said, sir!" cried Simon Ford. "The old mine will grow young again,
like a widow who remarries! The bustle of the old days will soon begin
with the blows of the pick, and mattock, blasts of powder, rumbling of
wagons, neighing of horses, creaking of machines! I shall see it all
again! I hope, Mr. Starr, that you will not think me too old to resume my
duties of overman?"

"No, Simon, no indeed! You wear better than I do, my old friend!"

"And, sir, you shall be our viewer again. May the new working last for
many years, and pray Heaven I shall have the consolation of dying without
seeing the end of it!"

The old miner was overflowing with joy. James Starr fully entered into it;
but he let Ford rave for them both. Harry alone remained thoughtful. To
his memory recurred the succession of singular, inexplicable circumstances
attending the discovery of the new bed. It made him uneasy about the
future.

An hour afterwards, James Starr and his two companions were back in the
cottage. The engineer supped with good appetite, listening with
satisfaction to all the plans unfolded by the old overman; and had it not
been for his excitement about the next day's work, he would never have
slept better than in the perfect stillness of the cottage.

The following day, after a substantial breakfast, James Starr, Simon Ford,
Harry, and even Madge herself, took the road already traversed the day
before. All looked like regular miners. They carried different tools, and
some dynamite with which to blast the rock. Harry, besides a large
lantern, took a safety lamp, which would burn for twelve hours. It was
more than was necessary for the journey there and back, including the time
for the working—supposing a working was possible.

"To work! to work!" shouted Ford, when the party reached the further end
of the passage; and he grasped a heavy crowbar and brandished it.

"Stop one instant," said Starr. "Let us see if any change has taken place,
and if the fire-damp still escapes through the crevices."

"You are right, Mr. Starr," said Harry. "Whoever stopped it up yesterday
may have done it again to-day!"

Madge, seated on a rock, carefully observed the excavation, and the wall
which was to be blasted.

It was found that everything was just as they left it. The crevices had
undergone no alteration; the carburetted hydrogen still filtered through,
though in a small stream, which was no doubt because it had had a free
passage since the day before. As the quantity was so small, it could not
have formed an explosive mixture with the air inside. James Starr and his
companions could therefore proceed in security. Besides, the air grew
purer by rising to the heights of the Dochart pit; and the fire-damp,
spreading through the atmosphere, would not be strong enough to make any
explosion.

"To work, then!" repeated Ford; and soon the rock flew in splinters under
his skillful blows. The break was chiefly composed of pudding-stone,
interspersed with sandstone and schist, such as is most often met with
between the coal veins. James Starr picked up some of the pieces, and
examined them carefully, hoping to discover some trace of coal.

Starr having chosen the place where the holes were to be drilled, they
were rapidly bored by Harry. Some cartridges of dynamite were put into
them. As soon as the long, tarred safety match was laid, it was lighted on
a level with the ground. James Starr and his companions then went off to
some distance.

"Oh! Mr. Starr," said Simon Ford, a prey to agitation, which he did not
attempt to conceal, "never, no, never has my old heart beaten so quick
before! I am longing to get at the vein!"

"Patience, Simon!" responded the engineer. "You don't mean to say that you
think you are going to find a passage all ready open behind that dyke?"

"Excuse me, sir," answered the old overman; "but of course I think so! If
there was good luck in the way Harry and I discovered this place, why
shouldn't the good luck go on?"

As he spoke, came the explosion. A sound as of thunder rolled through the
labyrinth of subterranean galleries. Starr, Madge, Harry, and Simon Ford
hastened towards the spot.

Ford's comparison was justified by the appearance of an excavation, the
depth of which could not be calculated. Harry was about to spring through
the opening; but the engineer, though excessively surprised to find this
cavity, held him back. "Allow time for the air in there to get pure," said
he.

"Yes! beware of the foul air!" said Simon.

A quarter of an hour was passed in anxious waiting. The lantern was then
fastened to the end of a stick, and introduced into the cave, where it
continued to burn with unaltered brilliancy. "Now then, Harry, go," said
Starr, "and we will follow you."

The opening made by the dynamite was sufficiently large to allow a man to
pass through. Harry, lamp in hand, entered unhesitatingly, and disappeared
in the darkness. His father, mother, and James Starr waited in silence. A
minute—which seemed to them much longer—passed. Harry did not
reappear, did not call. Gazing into the opening, James Starr could not
even see the light of his lamp, which ought to have illuminated the dark
cavern.

Had the ground suddenly given way under Harry's feet? Had the young miner
fallen into some crevice? Could his voice no longer reach his companions?

The old overman, dead to their remonstrances, was about to enter the
opening, when a light appeared, dim at first, but gradually growing
brighter, and Harry's voice was heard shouting, "Come, Mr. Starr! come,
father! The road to New Aberfoyle is open!"

If, by some superhuman power, engineers could have raised in a block, a
thousand feet thick, all that portion of the terrestrial crust which
supports the lakes, rivers, gulfs, and territories of the counties of
Stirling, Dumbarton, and Renfrew, they would have found, under that
enormous lid, an immense excavation, to which but one other in the world
can be compared—the celebrated Mammoth caves of Kentucky. This
excavation was composed of several hundred divisions of all sizes and
shapes. It might be called a hive with numberless ranges of cells,
capriciously arranged, but a hive on a vast scale, and which, instead of
bees, might have lodged all the ichthyosauri, megatheriums, and
pterodactyles of the geological epoch.

A labyrinth of galleries, some higher than the most lofty cathedrals,
others like cloisters, narrow and winding—these following a
horizontal line, those on an incline or running obliquely in all
directions—connected the caverns and allowed free communication
between them.

The pillars sustaining the vaulted roofs, whose curves allowed of every
style, the massive walls between the passages, the naves themselves in
this layer of secondary formation, were composed of sandstone and
schistous rocks. But tightly packed between these useless strata ran
valuable veins of coal, as if the black blood of this strange mine had
circulated through their tangled network. These fields extended forty
miles north and south, and stretched even under the Caledonian Canal. The
importance of this bed could not be calculated until after soundings, but
it would certainly surpass those of Cardiff and Newcastle.

We may add that the working of this mine would be singularly facilitated
by the fantastic dispositions of the secondary earths; for by an
unaccountable retreat of the mineral matter at the geological epoch, when
the mass was solidifying, nature had already multiplied the galleries and
tunnels of New Aberfoyle.

Yes, nature alone! It might at first have been supposed that some works
abandoned for centuries had been discovered afresh. Nothing of the sort.
No one would have deserted such riches. Human termites had never gnawed
away this part of the Scottish subsoil; nature herself had done it all.
But, we repeat, it could be compared to nothing but the celebrated Mammoth
caves, which, in an extent of more than twenty miles, contain two hundred
and twenty-six avenues, eleven lakes, seven rivers, eight cataracts,
thirty-two unfathomable wells, and fifty-seven domes, some of which are
more than four hundred and fifty feet in height. Like these caves, New
Aberfoyle was not the work of men, but the work of the Creator.

Such was this new domain, of matchless wealth, the discovery of which
belonged entirely to the old overman. Ten years' sojourn in the deserted
mine, an uncommon pertinacity in research, perfect faith, sustained by a
marvelous mining instinct—all these qualities together led him to
succeed where so many others had failed. Why had the soundings made under
the direction of James Starr during the last years of the working stopped
just at that limit, on the very frontier of the new mine? That was all
chance, which takes great part in researches of this kind.

However that might be, there was, under the Scottish subsoil, what might
be called a subterranean county, which, to be habitable, needed only the
rays of the sun, or, for want of that, the light of a special planet.

Water had collected in various hollows, forming vast ponds, or rather
lakes larger than Loch Katrine, lying just above them. Of course the
waters of these lakes had no movement of currents or tides; no old castle
was reflected there; no birch or oak trees waved on their banks. And yet
these deep lakes, whose mirror-like surface was never ruffled by a breeze,
would not be without charm by the light of some electric star, and,
connected by a string of canals, would well complete the geography of this
strange domain.

Although unfit for any vegetable production, the place could be inhabited
by a whole population. And who knows but that in this steady temperature,
in the depths of the mines of Aberfoyle, as well as in those of Newcastle,
Alloa, or Cardiff—when their contents shall have been exhausted—who
knows but that the poorer classes of Great Britain will some day find a
refuge?

CHAPTER VIII. EXPLORING

AT Harry's call, James Starr, Madge, and Simon Ford entered through the
narrow orifice which put the Dochart pit in communication with the new
mine. They found themselves at the beginning of a tolerably wide gallery.
One might well believe that it had been pierced by the hand of man, that
the pick and mattock had emptied it in the working of a new vein. The
explorers question whether, by a strange chance, they had not been
transported into some ancient mine, of the existence of which even the
oldest miners in the county had ever known.

No! It was merely that the geological layers had left this passage when
the secondary earths were in course of formation. Perhaps some torrent had
formerly dashed through it; but now it was as dry as if it had been cut
some thousand feet lower, through granite rocks. At the same time, the air
circulated freely, which showed that certain natural vents placed it in
communication with the exterior atmosphere.

This observation, made by the engineer, was correct, and it was evident
that the ventilation of the new mine would be easily managed. As to the
fire-damp which had lately filtered through the schist, it seemed to have
been contained in a pocket now empty, and it was certain that the
atmosphere of the gallery was quite free from it. However, Harry prudently
carried only the safety lamp, which would insure light for twelve hours.

James Starr and his companions now felt perfectly happy. All their wishes
were satisfied. There was nothing but coal around them. A sort of emotion
kept them silent; even Simon Ford restrained himself. His joy overflowed,
not in long phrases, but in short ejaculations.

It was perhaps imprudent to venture so far into the crypt. Pooh! they
never thought of how they were to get back.

The gallery was practicable, not very winding. They met with no noxious
exhalations, nor did any chasm bar the path. There was no reason for
stopping for a whole hour; James Starr, Madge, Harry, and Simon Ford
walked on, though there was nothing to show them what was the exact
direction of this unknown tunnel.

And they would no doubt have gone farther still, if they had not suddenly
come to the end of the wide road which they had followed since their
entrance into the mine.

The gallery ended in an enormous cavern, neither the height nor depth of
which could be calculated. At what altitude arched the roof of this
excavation—at what distance was its opposite wall—the darkness
totally concealed; but by the light of the lamp the explorers could
discover that its dome covered a vast extent of still water—pond or
lake—whose picturesque rocky banks were lost in obscurity.

"Well, my old friend, I haven't felt so happy for a long while!" replied
the engineer; "the small part of this marvelous mine that we have explored
seems to show that its extent is very considerable, at least in length."

"In width and in depth, too, Mr. Starr!" returned Simon Ford.

"That we shall know later."

"And I can answer for it! Trust to the instinct of an old miner! It has
never deceived me!"

"I wish to believe you, Simon," replied the engineer, smiling. "As far as
I can judge from this short exploration, we possess the elements of a
working which will last for centuries!"

"Centuries!" exclaimed Simon Ford; "I believe you, sir! A thousand years
and more will pass before the last bit of coal is taken out of our new
mine!"

"Heaven grant it!" returned Starr. "As to the quality of the coal which
crops out of these walls?"

And so saying, with his pick he struck off a fragment of the black rock.

"Look! look!" he repeated, holding it close to his lamp; "the surface of
this piece of coal is shining! We have here fat coal, rich in bituminous
matter; and see how it comes in pieces, almost without dust! Ah, Mr.
Starr! twenty years ago this seam would have entered into a strong
competition with Swansea and Cardiff! Well, stokers will quarrel for it
still, and if it costs little to extract it from the mine, it will not
sell at a less price outside."

"Indeed," said Madge, who had taken the fragment of coal and was examining
it with the air of a connoisseur; "that's good quality of coal. Carry it
home, Simon, carry it back to the cottage! I want this first piece of coal
to burn under our kettle."

"Well said, wife!" answered the old overman, "and you shall see that I am
not mistaken."

"Mr. Starr," asked Harry, "have you any idea of the probable direction of
this long passage which we have been following since our entrance into the
new mine?"

"No, my lad," replied the engineer; "with a compass I could perhaps find
out its general bearing; but without a compass I am here like a sailor in
open sea, in the midst of fogs, when there is no sun by which to calculate
his position."

"No doubt, Mr. Starr," replied Ford; "but pray don't compare our position
with that of the sailor, who has everywhere and always an abyss under his
feet! We are on firm ground here, and need never be afraid of foundering."

"I won't tease you, then, old Simon," answered James Starr. "Far be it
from me even in jest to depreciate the New Aberfoyle mine by an unjust
comparison! I only meant to say one thing, and that is that we don't know
where we are."

"We are in the subsoil of the county of Stirling, Mr. Starr," replied
Simon Ford; "and that I assert as if—"

"Listen!" said Harry, interrupting the old man. All listened, as the young
miner was doing. His ears, which were very sharp, had caught a dull sound,
like a distant murmur. His companions were not long in hearing it
themselves. It was above their heads, a sort of rolling sound, in which
though it was so feeble, the successive CRESCENDO and DIMINUENDO could be
distinctly heard.

All four stood for some minutes, their ears on the stretch, without
uttering a word. All at once Simon Ford exclaimed, "Well, I declare! Are
trucks already running on the rails of New Aberfoyle?"

"Father," replied Harry, "it sounds to me just like the noise made by
waves rolling on the sea shore."

"We can't be under the sea though!" cried the old overman.

"No," said the engineer, "but it is not impossible that we should be under
Loch Katrine."

"The roof cannot have much thickness just here, if the noise of the water
is perceptible."

"Very little indeed," answered James Starr, "and that is the reason this
cavern is so huge."

"You must be right, Mr. Starr," said Harry.

"Besides, the weather is so bad outside," resumed Starr, "that the waters
of the loch must be as rough as those of the Firth of Forth."

"Well! what does it matter after all?" returned Simon Ford; "the seam
won't be any the worse because it is under a loch. It would not be the
first time that coal has been looked for under the very bed of the ocean!
When we have to work under the bottom of the Caledonian Canal, where will
be the harm?"

"Well said, Simon," cried the engineer, who could not restrain a smile at
the overman's enthusiasm; "let us cut our trenches under the waters of the
sea! Let us bore the bed of the Atlantic like a strainer; let us with our
picks join our brethren of the United States through the subsoil of the
ocean! let us dig into the center of the globe if necessary, to tear out
the last scrap of coal."

"I joking, old man? no! but you are so enthusiastic that you carry me away
into the regions of impossibility! Come, let us return to the reality,
which is sufficiently beautiful; leave our picks here, where we may find
them another day, and let's take the road back to the cottage."

Nothing more could be done for the time. Later, the engineer, accompanied
by a brigade of miners, supplied with lamps and all necessary tools, would
resume the exploration of New Aberfoyle. It was now time to return to the
Dochart pit. The road was easy, the gallery running nearly straight
through the rock up to the orifice opened by the dynamite, so there was no
fear of their losing themselves.

But as James Starr was proceeding towards the gallery Simon Ford stopped
him.

"Mr. Starr," said he, "you see this immense cavern, this subterranean
lake, whose waters bathe this strand at our feet? Well! it is to this
place I mean to change my dwelling, here I will build a new cottage, and
if some brave fellows will follow my example, before a year is over there
will be one town more inside old England."

James Starr, smiling approval of Ford's plans, pressed his hand, and all
three, preceding Madge, re-entered the gallery, on their way back to the
Dochart pit. For the first mile no incident occurred. Harry walked first,
holding his lamp above his head. He carefully followed the principal
gallery, without ever turning aside into the narrow tunnels which radiated
to the right and left. It seemed as if the returning was to be
accomplished as easily as the going, when an unexpected accident occurred
which rendered the situation of the explorers very serious.

Just at a moment when Harry was raising his lamp there came a rush of air,
as if caused by the flapping of invisible wings. The lamp escaped from his
hands, fell on the rocky ground, and was broken to pieces.

James Starr and his companions were suddenly plunged in absolute darkness.
All the oil of the lamp was spilt, and it was of no further use. "Well,
Harry," cried his father, "do you want us all to break our necks on the
way back to the cottage?"

Harry did not answer. He wondered if he ought to suspect the hand of a
mysterious being in this last accident? Could there possibly exist in
these depths an enemy whose unaccountable antagonism would one day create
serious difficulties? Had someone an interest in defending the new coal
field against any attempt at working it? In truth that seemed absurd, yet
the facts spoke for themselves, and they accumulated in such a way as to
change simple presumptions into certainties.

In the meantime the explorers' situation was bad enough. They had now, in
the midst of black darkness, to follow the passage leading to the Dochart
pit for nearly five miles. There they would still have an hour's walk
before reaching the cottage.

"Come along," said Simon Ford. "We have no time to lose. We must grope our
way along, like blind men. There's no fear of losing our way. The tunnels
which open off our road are only just like those in a molehill, and by
following the chief gallery we shall of course reach the opening we got in
at. After that, it is the old mine. We know that, and it won't be the
first time that Harry and I have found ourselves there in the dark.
Besides, there we shall find the lamps that we left. Forward then! Harry,
go first. Mr. Starr, follow him. Madge, you go next, and I will bring up
the rear. Above everything, don't let us get separated."

All complied with the old overman's instructions. As he said, by groping
carefully, they could not mistake the way. It was only necessary to make
the hands take the place of the eyes, and to trust to their instinct,
which had with Simon Ford and his son become a second nature.

James Starr and his companions walked on in the order agreed. They did not
speak, but it was not for want of thinking. It became evident that they
had an adversary. But what was he, and how were they to defend themselves
against these mysteriously-prepared attacks? These disquieting ideas
crowded into their brains. However, this was not the moment to get
discouraged.

Harry, his arms extended, advanced with a firm step, touching first one
and then the other side of the passage.

If a cleft or side opening presented itself, he felt with his hand that it
was not the main way; either the cleft was too shallow, or the opening too
narrow, and he thus kept in the right road.

In darkness through which the eye could not in the slightest degree
pierce, this difficult return lasted two hours. By reckoning the time
since they started, taking into consideration that the walking had not
been rapid, Starr calculated that he and his companions were near the
opening. In fact, almost immediately, Harry stopped.

"Have we got to the end of the gallery?" asked Simon Ford.

"Yes," answered the young miner.

"Well! have you not found the hole which connects New Aberfoyle with the
Dochart pit?"

The old overman stepped forward, and himself felt the schistous rock. A
cry escaped him.

Either the explorers had strayed from the right path on their return, or
the narrow orifice, broken in the rock by the dynamite, had been recently
stopped up. James Starr and his companions were prisoners in New
Aberfoyle.

CHAPTER IX. THE FIRE-MAIDENS

A WEEK after the events just related had taken place, James Starr's
friends had become very anxious. The engineer had disappeared, and no
reason could be brought forward to explain his absence. They learnt, by
questioning his servant, that he had embarked at Granton Pier. But from
that time there were no traces of James Starr. Simon Ford's letter had
requested secrecy, and he had said nothing of his departure for the
Aberfoyle mines.

Therefore in Edinburgh nothing was talked of but the unaccountable absence
of the engineer. Sir W. Elphiston, the President of the Royal Institution,
communicated to his colleagues a letter which James Starr had sent him,
excusing himself from being present at the next meeting of the society.
Two or three others produced similar letters. But though these documents
proved that Starr had left Edinburgh—which was known before—they
threw no light on what had become of him. Now, on the part of such a man,
this prolonged absence, so contrary to his usual habits, naturally first
caused surprise, and then anxiety.

A notice was inserted in the principal newspapers of the United Kingdom
relative to the engineer James Starr, giving a description of him and the
date on which he left Edinburgh; nothing more could be done but to wait.
The time passed in great anxiety. The scientific world of England was
inclined to believe that one of its most distinguished members had
positively disappeared. At the same time, when so many people were
thinking about James Starr, Harry Ford was the subject of no less anxiety.
Only, instead of occupying public attention, the son of the old overman
was the cause of trouble alone to the generally cheerful mind of Jack
Ryan.

It may be remembered that, in their encounter in the Yarrow shaft, Jack
Ryan had invited Harry to come a week afterwards to the festivities at
Irvine. Harry had accepted and promised expressly to be there. Jack Ryan
knew, having had it proved by many circumstances, that his friend was a
man of his word. With him, a thing promised was a thing done. Now, at the
Irvine merry-making, nothing was wanting; neither song, nor dance, nor fun
of any sort—nothing but Harry Ford.

The notice relative to James Starr, published in the papers, had not yet
been seen by Ryan. The honest fellow was therefore only worried by Harry's
absence, telling himself that something serious could alone have prevented
him from keeping his promise. So, the day after the Irvine games, Jack
Ryan intended to take the railway from Glasgow and go to the Dochart pit;
and this he would have done had he not been detained by an accident which
nearly cost him his life. Something which occurred on the night of the
12th of December was of a nature to support the opinions of all partisans
of the supernatural, and there were many at Melrose Farm.

Irvine, a little seaport of Renfrew, containing nearly seven thousand
inhabitants, lies in a sharp bend made by the Scottish coast, near the
mouth of the Firth of Clyde. The most ancient and the most famed ruins on
this part of the coast were those of this castle of Robert Stuart, which
bore the name of Dundonald Castle.

At this period Dundonald Castle, a refuge for all the stray goblins of the
country, was completely deserted. It stood on the top of a high rock, two
miles from the town, and was seldom visited. Sometimes a few strangers
took it into their heads to explore these old historical remains, but then
they always went alone. The inhabitants of Irvine would not have taken
them there at any price. Indeed, several legends were based on the story
of certain "fire-maidens," who haunted the old castle.

The most superstitious declared they had seen these fantastic creatures
with their own eyes. Jack Ryan was naturally one of them. It was a fact
that from time to time long flames appeared, sometimes on a broken piece
of wall, sometimes on the summit of the tower which was the highest point
of Dundonald Castle.

Did these flames really assume a human shape, as was asserted? Did they
merit the name of fire-maidens, given them by the people of the coast? It
was evidently just an optical delusion, aided by a good deal of credulity,
and science could easily have explained the phenomenon.

However that might be, these fire-maidens had the reputation of
frequenting the ruins of the old castle and there performing wild
strathspeys, especially on dark nights. Jack Ryan, bold fellow though he
was, would never have dared to accompany those dances with the music of
his bagpipes.

We may well believe that these strange apparitions frequently furnished a
text for the evening stories. Jack Ryan was ending the evening with one of
these. His auditors, transported into the phantom world, were worked up
into a state of mind which would believe anything.

All at once shouts were heard outside. Jack Ryan stopped short in the
middle of his story, and all rushed out of the barn. The night was pitchy
dark. Squalls of wind and rain swept along the beach. Two or three
fishermen, their backs against a rock, the better to resist the wind, were
shouting at the top of their voices.

Jack Ryan and his companions ran up to them. The shouts were, however, not
for the inhabitants of the farm, but to warn men who, without being aware
of it, were going to destruction. A dark, confused mass appeared some way
out at sea. It was a vessel whose position could be seen by her lights,
for she carried a white one on her foremast, a green on the starboard
side, and a red on the outside. She was evidently running straight on the
rocks.

"A ship in distress?" said Ryan.

"Ay," answered one of the fishermen, "and now they want to tack, but it's
too late!"

"Do they want to run ashore?" said another.

"It seems so," responded one of the fishermen, "unless he has been misled
by some—"

The man was interrupted by a yell from Jack. Could the crew have heard it?
At any rate, it was too late for them to beat back from the line of
breakers which gleamed white in the darkness.

But it was not, as might be supposed, a last effort of Ryan's to warn the
doomed ship. He now had his back to the sea. His companions turned also,
and gazed at a spot situated about half a mile inland. It was Dundonald
Castle. A long flame twisted and bent under the gale, on the summit of the
old tower.

"The Fire-Maiden!" cried the superstitious men in terror.

Clearly, it needed a good strong imagination to find any human likeness in
that flame. Waving in the wind like a luminous flag, it seemed sometimes
to fly round the tower, as if it was just going out, and a moment after it
was seen again dancing on its blue point.

"The Fire-Maiden! the Fire-Maiden!" cried the terrified fishermen and
peasants.

All was then explained. The ship, having lost her reckoning in the fog,
had taken this flame on the top of Dundonald Castle for the Irvine light.
She thought herself at the entrance of the Firth, ten miles to the north,
when she was really running on a shore which offered no refuge.

What could be done to save her, if there was still time? It was too late.
A frightful crash was heard above the tumult of the elements. The vessel
had struck. The white line of surf was broken for an instant; she heeled
over on her side and lay among the rocks.

At the same time, by a strange coincidence, the long flame disappeared, as
if it had been swept away by a violent gust. Earth, sea, and sky were
plunged in complete darkness.

"The Fire-Maiden!" shouted Ryan, for the last time, as the apparition,
which he and his companions believed supernatural, disappeared. But then
the courage of these superstitious Scotchmen, which had failed before a
fancied danger, returned in face of a real one, which they were ready to
brave in order to save their fellow-creatures. The tempest did not deter
them. As heroic as they had before been credulous, fastening ropes round
their waists, they rushed into the waves to the aid of those on the wreck.

Happily, they succeeded in their endeavors, although some—and bold
Jack Ryan was among the number—were severely wounded on the rocks.
But the captain of the vessel and the eight sailors who composed his crew
were hauled up, safe and sound, on the beach.

The ship was the Norwegian brig MOTALA, laden with timber, and bound for
Glasgow. Of the MOTALA herself nothing remained but a few spars, washed up
by the waves, and dashed among the rocks on the beach.

Jack Ryan and three of his companions, wounded like himself, were carried
into a room of Melrose Farm, where every care was lavished on them. Ryan
was the most hurt, for when with the rope round his waist he had rushed
into the sea, the waves had almost immediately dashed him back against the
rocks. He was brought, indeed, very nearly lifeless on to the beach.

The brave fellow was therefore confined to bed for several days, to his
great disgust. However, as soon as he was given permission to sing as much
as he liked, he bore his trouble patiently, and the farm echoed all day
with his jovial voice. But from this adventure he imbibed a more lively
sentiment of fear with regard to brownies and other goblins who amuse
themselves by plaguing mankind, and he made them responsible for the
catastrophe of the Motala. It would have been vain to try and convince him
that the Fire-Maidens did not exist, and that the flame, so suddenly
appearing among the ruins, was but a natural phenomenon. No reasoning
could make him believe it. His companions were, if possible, more
obstinate than he in their credulity. According to them, one of the
Fire-Maidens had maliciously attracted the MOTALA to the coast. As to
wishing to punish her, as well try to bring the tempest to justice! The
magistrates might order what arrests they pleased, but a flame cannot be
imprisoned, an impalpable being can't be handcuffed. It must be
acknowledged that the researches which were ultimately made gave ground,
at least in appearance, to this superstitious way of explaining the facts.

The inquiry was made with great care. Officials came to Dundonald Castle,
and they proceeded to conduct a most vigorous search. The magistrate
wished first to ascertain if the ground bore any footprints, which could
be attributed to other than goblins' feet. It was impossible to find the
least trace, whether old or new. Moreover, the earth, still damp from the
rain of the day before, would have preserved the least vestige.

The result of all this was, that the magistrates only got for their
trouble a new legend added to so many others—a legend which would be
perpetuated by the remembrance of the catastrophe of the MOTALA, and
indisputably confirm the truth of the apparition of the Fire-Maidens.

A hearty fellow like Jack Ryan, with so strong a constitution, could not
be long confined to his bed. A few sprains and bruises were not quite
enough to keep him on his back longer than he liked. He had not time to be
ill.

Jack, therefore, soon got well. As soon as he was on his legs again,
before resuming his work on the farm, he wished to go and visit his friend
Harry, and learn why he had not come to the Irvine merry-making. He could
not understand his absence, for Harry was not a man who would willingly
promise and not perform. It was unlikely, too, that the son of the old
overman had not heard of the wreck of the MOTALA, as it was in all the
papers. He must know the part Jack had taken in it, and what had happened
to him, and it was unlike Harry not to hasten to the farm and see how his
old chum was going on.

As Harry had not come, there must have been something to prevent him. Jack
Ryan would as soon deny the existence of the Fire-Maidens as believe in
Harry's indifference.

Two days after the catastrophe Jack left the farm merily, feeling nothing
of his wounds. Singing in the fullness of his heart, he awoke the echoes
of the cliff, as he walked to the station of the railway, which VIA
Glasgow would take him to Stirling and Callander.

As he was waiting for his train, his attention was attracted by a bill
posted up on the walls, containing the following notice:

"On the 4th of December, the engineer, James Starr, of Edinburgh, embarked
from Granton Pier, on board the Prince of Wales. He disembarked the same
day at Stirling. From that time nothing further has been heard of him.

"Any information concerning him is requested to be sent to the President
of the Royal Institution, Edinburgh."

Jack Ryan, stopping before one of these advertisements, read it twice
over, with extreme surprise.

"Mr. Starr!" he exclaimed. "Why, on the 4th of December I met him with
Harry on the ladder of the Dochart pit! That was ten days ago! And he has
not been seen from that time! That explains why my chum didn't come to
Irvine."

And without taking time to inform the President of the Royal Institution
by letter, what he knew relative to James Starr, Jack jumped into the
train, determining to go first of all to the Yarrow shaft. There he would
descend to the depths of the pit, if necessary, to find Harry, and with
him was sure to be the engineer James Starr.

"They haven't turned up again," said he to himself. "Why? Has anything
prevented them? Could any work of importance keep them still at the bottom
of the mine? I must find out!" and Ryan, hastening his steps, arrived in
less than an hour at the Yarrow shaft.

Externally nothing was changed. The same silence around. Not a living
creature was moving in that desert region. Jack entered the ruined shed
which covered the opening of the shaft. He gazed down into the dark abyss—nothing
was to be seen. He listened—nothing was to be heard.

"And my lamp!" he exclaimed; "suppose it isn't in its place!" The lamp
which Ryan used when he visited the pit was usually deposited in a corner,
near the landing of the topmost ladder. It had disappeared.

"Here is a nuisance!" said Jack, beginning to feel rather uneasy. Then,
without hesitating, superstitious though he was, "I will go," said he,
"though it's as dark down there as in the lowest depths of the infernal
regions!"

And he began to descend the long flight of ladders, which led down the
gloomy shaft. Jack Ryan had not forgotten his old mining habits, and he
was well acquainted with the Dochart pit, or he would scarcely have dared
to venture thus. He went very carefully, however. His foot tried each
round, as some of them were worm-eaten. A false step would entail a deadly
fall, through this space of fifteen hundred feet. He counted each landing
as he passed it, knowing that he could not reach the bottom of the shaft
until he had left the thirtieth. Once there, he would have no trouble, so
he thought, in finding the cottage, built, as we have said, at the
extremity of the principal passage.

Jack Ryan went on thus until he got to the twenty-sixth landing, and
consequently had two hundred feet between him and the bottom.

Here he put down his leg to feel for the first rung of the twenty-seventh
ladder. But his foot swinging in space found nothing to rest on. He knelt
down and felt about with his hand for the top of the ladder. It was in
vain.

"Old Nick himself must have been down this way!" said Jack, not without a
slight feeling of terror.

He stood considering for some time, with folded arms, and longing to be
able to pierce the impenetrable darkness. Then it occurred to him that if
he could not get down, neither could the inhabitants of the mine get up.
There was now no communication between the depths of the pit and the upper
regions. If the removal of the lower ladders of the Yarrow shaft had been
effected since his last visit to the cottage, what had become of Simon
Ford, his wife, his son, and the engineer?

The prolonged absence of James Starr proved that he had not left the pit
since the day Ryan met with him in the shaft. How had the cottage been
provisioned since then? The food of these unfortunate people, imprisoned
fifteen hundred feet below the surface of the ground, must have been
exhausted by this time.

All this passed through Jack's mind, as he saw that by himself he could do
nothing to get to the cottage. He had no doubt but that communication had
been interrupted with a malevolent intention. At any rate, the authorities
must be informed, and that as soon as possible. Jack Ryan bent forward
from the landing.

"Harry! Harry!" he shouted with his powerful voice.

Harry's name echoed and re-echoed among the rocks, and finally died away
in the depths of the shaft.

Ryan rapidly ascended the upper ladders and returned to the light of day.
Without losing a moment he reached the Callander station, just caught the
express to Edinburgh, and by three o'clock was before the Lord Provost.

There his declaration was received. His account was given so clearly that
it could not be doubted. Sir William Elphiston, President of the Royal
Institution, and not only colleague, but a personal friend of Starr's, was
also informed, and asked to direct the search which was to be made without
delay in the mine. Several men were placed at his disposal, supplied with
lamps, picks, long rope ladders, not forgetting provisions and cordials.
Then guided by Jack Ryan, the party set out for the Aberfoyle mines.

The same evening the expedition arrived at the opening of the Yarrow
shaft, and descended to the twenty-seventh landing, at which Jack Ryan had
been stopped a few hours previously. The lamps, fastened to long ropes,
were lowered down the shaft, and it was thus ascertained that the four
last ladders were wanting.

As soon as the lamps had been brought up, the men fixed to the landing a
rope ladder, which unrolled itself down the shaft, and all descended one
after the other. Jack Ryan's descent was the most difficult, for he went
first down the swinging ladders, and fastened them for the others.

The space at the bottom of the shaft was completely deserted; but Sir
William was much surprised at hearing Jack Ryan exclaim, "Here are bits of
the ladders, and some of them half burnt!"

"Burnt?" repeated Sir William. "Indeed, here sure enough are cinders which
have evidently been cold a long time!"

"Do you think, sir," asked Ryan, "that Mr. Starr could have had any reason
for burning the ladders, and thus breaking of communication with the
world?"

"Certainly not," answered Sir William Elphiston, who had become very
thoughtful. "Come, my lad, lead us to the cottage. There we shall
ascertain the truth."

Jack Ryan shook his head, as if not at all convinced. Then, taking a lamp
from the hands of one of the men, he proceeded with a rapid step along the
principal passage of the Dochart pit. The others all followed him.

In a quarter of an hour the party arrived at the excavation in which stood
Simon Ford's cottage. There was no light in the window. Ryan darted to the
door, and threw it open. The house was empty.

They examined all the rooms in the somber habitation. No trace of violence
was to be found. All was in order, as if old Madge had been still there.
There was even an ample supply of provisions, enough to last the Ford
family for several days.

The absence of the tenants of the cottage was quite unaccountable. But was
it not possible to find out the exact time they had quitted it? Yes, for
in this region, where there was no difference of day or night, Madge was
accustomed to mark with a cross each day in her almanac.

The almanac was pinned up on the wall, and there the last cross had been
made at the 6th of December; that is to say, a day after the arrival of
James Starr, to which Ryan could positively swear. It was clear that on
the 6th of December, ten days ago, Simon Ford, his wife, son, and guest,
had quitted the cottage. Could a fresh exploration of the mine, undertaken
by the engineer, account for such a long absence? Certainly not.

It was intensely dark all round. The lamps held by the men gave light only
just where they were standing. Suddenly Jack Ryan uttered a cry. "Look
there, there!"

His finger was pointing to a tolerably bright light, which was moving
about in the distance. "After that light, my men!" exclaimed Sir William.

"It's a goblin light!" said Ryan. "So what's the use? We shall never catch
it."

The president and his men, little given to superstition, darted off in the
direction of the moving light. Jack Ryan, bravely following their example,
quickly overtook the head-most of the party.

It was a long and fatiguing chase. The lantern seemed to be carried by a
being of small size, but singular agility.

Every now and then it disappeared behind some pillar, then was seen again
at the end of a cross gallery. A sharp turn would place it out of sight,
and it seemed to have completely disappeared, when all at once there would
be the light as bright as ever. However, they gained very little on it,
and Ryan's belief that they could never catch it seemed far from
groundless.

After an hour of this vain pursuit Sir William Elphiston and his
companions had gone a long way in the southwest direction of the pit, and
began to think they really had to do with an impalpable being. Just then
it seemed as if the distance between the goblin and those who were
pursuing it was becoming less. Could it be fatigued, or did this invisible
being wish to entice Sir William and his companions to the place where the
inhabitants of the cottage had perhaps themselves been enticed. It was
hard to say.

The men, seeing that the distance lessened, redoubled their efforts. The
light which had before burnt at a distance of more than two hundred feet
before them was now seen at less than fifty. The space continued to
diminish. The bearer of the lamp became partially visible. Sometimes, when
it turned its head, the indistinct profile of a human face could be made
out, and unless a sprite could assume bodily shape, Jack Ryan was obliged
to confess that here was no supernatural being. Then, springing forward,—

"Courage, comrades!" he exclaimed; "it is getting tired! We shall soon
catch it up now, and if it can talk as well as it can run we shall hear a
fine story."

But the pursuit had suddenly become more difficult. They were in unknown
regions of the mine; narrow passages crossed each other like the windings
of a labyrinth. The bearer of the lamp might escape them as easily as
possible, by just extinguishing the light and retreating into some dark
refuge.

"And indeed," thought Sir William, "if it wishes to avoid us, why does it
not do so?"

Hitherto there had evidently been no intention to avoid them, but just as
the thought crossed Sir William's mind the light suddenly disappeared, and
the party, continuing the pursuit, found themselves before an extremely
narrow natural opening in the schistous rocks.

To trim their lamps, spring forward, and dart through the opening, was for
Sir William and his party but the work of an instant. But before they had
gone a hundred paces along this new gallery, much wider and loftier than
the former, they all stopped short. There, near the wall, lay four bodies,
stretched on the ground—four corpses, perhaps!

"James Starr!" exclaimed Sir William Elphiston.

"Harry! Harry!" cried Ryan, throwing himself down beside his friend.

It was indeed the engineer, Madge, Simon, and Harry Ford who were lying
there motionless. But one of the bodies moved slightly, and Madge's voice
was heard faintly murmuring, "See to the others! help them first!"

Sir William, Jack, and their companions endeavored to reanimate the
engineer and his friends by getting them to swallow a few drops of brandy.
They very soon succeeded. The unfortunate people, shut up in that dark
cavern for ten days, were dying of starvation. They must have perished had
they not on three occasions found a loaf of bread and a jug of water set
near them. No doubt the charitable being to whom they owed their lives was
unable to do more for them.

Sir William wondered whether this might not have been the work of the
strange sprite who had allured them to the very spot where James Starr and
his companions lay.

However that might be, the engineer, Madge, Simon, and Harry Ford were
saved. They were assisted to the cottage, passing through the narrow
opening which the bearer of the strange light had apparently wished to
point out to Sir William. This was a natural opening. The passage which
James Starr and his companions had made for themselves with dynamite had
been completely blocked up with rocks laid one upon another.

So, then, whilst they had been exploring the vast cavern, the way back had
been purposely closed against them by a hostile hand.

CHAPTER X. COAL TOWN

THREE years after the events which have just been related, the guide-books
recommended as a "great attraction," to the numerous tourists who roam
over the county of Stirling, a visit of a few hours to the mines of New
Aberfoyle.

No mine in any country, either in the Old or New World, could present a
more curious aspect.

To begin with, the visitor was transported without danger or fatigue to a
level with the workings, at fifteen hundred feet below the surface of the
ground. Seven miles to the southwest of Callander opened a slanting
tunnel, adorned with a castellated entrance, turrets and battlements. This
lofty tunnel gently sloped straight to the stupendous crypt, hollowed out
so strangely in the bowels of the earth.

A double line of railway, the wagons being moved by hydraulic power, plied
from hour to hour to and from the village thus buried in the subsoil of
the county, and which bore the rather ambitious title of Coal Town.

Arrived in Coal Town, the visitor found himself in a place where
electricity played a principal part as an agent of heat and light.
Although the ventilation shafts were numerous, they were not sufficient to
admit much daylight into New Aberfoyle, yet it had abundance of light.
This was shed from numbers of electric discs; some suspended from the
vaulted roofs, others hanging on the natural pillars—all, whether
suns or stars in size, were fed by continuous currents produced from
electro-magnetic machines. When the hour of rest arrived, an artificial
night was easily produced all over the mine by disconnecting the wires.

Below the dome lay a lake of an extent to be compared to the Dead Sea of
the Mammoth caves—a deep lake whose transparent waters swarmed with
eyeless fish, and to which the engineer gave the name of Loch Malcolm.

There, in this immense natural excavation, Simon Ford built his new
cottage, which he would not have exchanged for the finest house in
Prince's Street, Edinburgh. This dwelling was situated on the shores of
the loch, and its five windows looked out on the dark waters, which
extended further than the eye could see. Two months later a second
habitation was erected in the neighborhood of Simon Ford's cottage: this
was for James Starr. The engineer had given himself body and soul to New
Aberfoyle, and nothing but the most imperative necessity ever caused him
to leave the pit. There, then, he lived in the midst of his mining world.

On the discovery of the new field, all the old colliers had hastened to
leave the plow and harrow, and resume the pick and mattock. Attracted by
the certainty that work would never fail, allured by the high wages which
the prosperity of the mine enabled the company to offer for labor, they
deserted the open air for an underground life, and took up their abode in
the mines.

The miners' houses, built of brick, soon grew up in a picturesque fashion;
some on the banks of Loch Malcolm, others under the arches which seemed
made to resist the weight that pressed upon them, like the piers of a
bridge. So was founded Coal Town, situated under the eastern point of Loch
Katrine, to the north of the county of Stirling. It was a regular
settlement on the banks of Loch Malcolm. A chapel, dedicated to St. Giles,
overlooked it from the top of a huge rock, whose foot was laved by the
waters of the subterranean sea.

When this underground town was lighted up by the bright rays thrown from
the discs, hung from the pillars and arches, its aspect was so strange, so
fantastic, that it justified the praise of the guide-books, and visitors
flocked to see it.

It is needless to say that the inhabitants of Coal Town were proud of
their place. They rarely left their laboring village—in that
imitating Simon Ford, who never wished to go out again. The old overman
maintained that it always rained "up there," and, considering the climate
of the United Kingdom, it must be acknowledged that he was not far wrong.
All the families in New Aberfoyle prospered well, having in three years
obtained a certain competency which they could never have hoped to attain
on the surface of the county. Dozens of babies, who were born at the time
when the works were resumed, had never yet breathed the outer air.

This made Jack Ryan remark, "It's eighteen months since they were weaned,
and they have not yet seen daylight!"

It may be mentioned here, that one of the first to run at the engineer's
call was Jack Ryan. The merry fellow had thought it his duty to return to
his old trade. But though Melrose farm had lost singer and piper it must
not be thought that Jack Ryan sung no more. On the contrary, the sonorous
echoes of New Aberfoyle exerted their strong lungs to answer him.

Jack Ryan took up his abode in Simon Ford's new cottage. They offered him
a room, which he accepted without ceremony, in his frank and hearty way.
Old Madge loved him for his fine character and good nature. She in some
degree shared his ideas on the subject of the fantastic beings who were
supposed to haunt the mine, and the two, when alone, told each other
stories wild enough to make one shudder—stories well worthy of
enriching the hyperborean mythology.

Jack thus became the life of the cottage. He was, besides being a jovial
companion, a good workman. Six months after the works had begun, he was
made head of a gang of hewers.

"That was a good work done, Mr. Ford," said he, a few days after his
appointment. "You discovered a new field, and though you narrowly escaped
paying for the discovery with your life—well, it was not too dearly
bought."

"No, Jack, it was a good bargain we made that time!" answered the old
overman. "But neither Mr. Starr nor I have forgotten that to you we owe
our lives."

"Not at all," returned Jack. "You owe them to your son Harry, when he had
the good sense to accept my invitation to Irvine."

"And not to go, isn't that it?" interrupted Harry, grasping his comrade's
hand. "No, Jack, it is to you, scarcely healed of your wounds—to
you, who did not delay a day, no, nor an hour, that we owe our being found
still alive in the mine!"

"Rubbish, no!" broke in the obstinate fellow. "I won't have that said,
when it's no such thing. I hurried to find out what had become of you,
Harry, that's all. But to give everyone his due, I will add that without
that unapproachable goblin—"

"Ah, there we are!" cried Ford. "A goblin!"

"A goblin, a brownie, a fairy's child," repeated Jack Ryan, "a cousin of
the Fire-Maidens, an Urisk, whatever you like! It's not the less certain
that without it we should never have found our way into the gallery, from
which you could not get out."

"No doubt, Jack," answered Harry. "It remains to be seen whether this
being was as supernatural as you choose to believe."

"Supernatural!" exclaimed Ryan. "But it was as supernatural as a
Will-o'-the-Wisp, who may be seen skipping along with his lantern in his
hand; you may try to catch him, but he escapes like a fairy, and vanishes
like a shadow! Don't be uneasy, Harry, we shall see it again some day or
other!"

"Well, Jack," said Simon Ford, "Will-o'-the-Wisp or not, we shall try to
find it, and you must help us."

"You'll get into a scrap if you don't take care, Mr. Ford!" responded Jack
Ryan.

"We'll see about that, Jack!"

We may easily imagine how soon this domain of New Aberfoyle became
familiar to all the members of the Ford family, but more particularly to
Harry. He learnt to know all its most secret ins and outs. He could even
say what point of the surface corresponded with what point of the mine. He
knew that above this seam lay the Firth of Clyde, that there extended Loch
Lomond and Loch Katrine. Those columns supported a spur of the Grampian
mountains. This vault served as a basement to Dumbarton. Above this large
pond passed the Balloch railway. Here ended the Scottish coast. There
began the sea, the tumult of which could be distinctly heard during the
equinoctial gales. Harry would have been a first-rate guide to these
natural catacombs, and all that Alpine guides do on their snowy peaks in
daylight he could have done in the dark mine by the wonderful power of
instinct.

He loved New Aberfoyle. Many times, with his lamp stuck in his hat, did he
penetrate its furthest depths. He explored its ponds in a
skillfully-managed canoe. He even went shooting, for numerous birds had
been introduced into the crypt—pintails, snipes, ducks, who fed on
the fish which swarmed in the deep waters. Harry's eyes seemed made for
the dark, just as a sailor's are made for distances. But all this while
Harry felt irresistibly animated by the hope of finding the mysterious
being whose intervention, strictly speaking, had saved himself and his
friends. Would he succeed? He certainly would, if presentiments were to be
trusted; but certainly not, if he judged by the success which had as yet
attended his researches.

The attacks directed against the family of the old overman, before the
discovery of New Aberfoyle, had not been renewed.

CHAPTER XI. HANGING BY A THREAD

ALTHOUGH in this way the Ford family led a happy and contented life, yet
it was easy to see that Harry, naturally of a grave disposition, became
more and more quiet and reserved. Even Jack Ryan, with all his good humor
and usually infectious merriment, failed to rouse him to gayety of manner.

One Sunday—it was in the month of June—the two friends were
walking together on the shores of Loch Malcolm. Coal Town rested from
labor. In the world above, stormy weather prevailed. Violent rains fell,
and dull sultry vapors brooded over the earth; the atmosphere was most
oppressive.

Down in Coal Town there was perfect calm; no wind, no rain. A soft and
pleasant temperature existed instead of the strife of the elements which
raged without. What wonder then, that excursionists from Stirling came in
considerable numbers to enjoy the calm fresh air in the recesses of the
mine?

The electric discs shed a brilliancy of light which the British sun,
oftener obscured by fogs than it ought to be, might well envy. Jack Ryan
kept talking of these visitors, who passed them in noisy crowds, but Harry
paid very little attention to what he said.

"I say, do look, Harry!" cried Jack. "See what numbers of people come to
visit us! Cheer up, old fellow! Do the honors of the place a little
better. If you look so glum, you'll make all these outside folks think you
envy their life above-ground."

"Ah, poor fellow!" said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. "If you would only
do like me, and set all the queer things down to the account of the
goblins of the mine, you would be easier in your mind."

"But, Jack, you know very well that these goblins exist only in your
imagination, and that, since the works here have been reopened, not a
single one has been seen."

"That's true, Harry; but if no spirits have been seen, neither has anyone
else to whom you could attribute the extraordinary doings we want to
account for."

"I shall discover them."

"Ah, Harry! Harry! it's not so easy to catch the spirits of New
Aberfoyle!"

"I shall find out the spirits as you call them," said Harry, in a tone of
firm conviction.

"Do you expect to be able to punish them?"

"Both punish and reward. Remember, if one hand shut us up in that passage,
another hand delivered us! I shall not soon forget that."

"But, Harry, how can we be sure that these two hands do not belong to the
same body?"

"What can put such a notion in your head, Jack?" asked Harry.

"Well, I don't know. Creatures that live in these holes, Harry, don't you
see? they can't be made like us, eh?"

"But they ARE just like us, Jack."

"Oh, no! don't say that, Harry! Perhaps some madman managed to get in for
a time."

"A madman! No madman would have formed such connected plans, or done such
continued mischief as befell us after the breaking of the ladders."

"Well, but anyhow he has done no harm for the last three years, either to
you, Harry, or any of your people."

"No matter, Jack," replied Harry; "I am persuaded that this malignant
being, whoever he is, has by no means given up his evil intentions. I can
hardly say on what I found my convictions. But at any rate, for the sake
of the new works, I must and will know who he is and whence he comes."

"For the sake of the new works did you say?" asked Jack, considerably
surprised.

"I said so, Jack," returned Harry. "I may be mistaken, but, to me, all
that has happened proves the existence of an interest in this mine in
strong opposition to ours. Many a time have I considered the matter; I
feel almost sure of it. Just consider the whole series of inexplicable
circumstances, so singularly linked together. To begin with, the anonymous
letter, contradictory to that of my father, at once proves that some man
had become aware of our projects, and wished to prevent their
accomplishment. Mr. Starr comes to see us at the Dochart pit. No sooner
does he enter it with me than an immense stone is cast upon us, and
communication is interrupted by the breaking of the ladders in the Yarrow
shaft. We commence exploring. An experiment, by which the existence of a
new vein would be proved, is rendered impossible by stoppage of fissures.
Notwithstanding this, the examination is carried out, the vein discovered.
We return as we came, a prodigious gust of air meets us, our lamp is
broken, utter darkness surrounds us. Nevertheless, we make our way along
the gloomy passage until, on reaching the entrance, we find it blocked up.
There we were—imprisoned. Now, Jack, don't you see in all these
things a malicious intention? Ah, yes, believe me, some being hitherto
invisible, but not supernatural, as you will persist in thinking, was
concealed in the mine. For some reason, known only to himself, he strove
to keep us out of it. WAS there, did I say? I feel an inward conviction
that he IS there still, and probably prepares some terrible disaster for
us. Even at the risk of my life, Jack, I am resolved to discover him."

Harry spoke with an earnestness which strongly impressed his companion.
"Well, Harry," said he, "if I am forced to agree with you in certain
points, won't you admit that some kind fairy or brownie, by bringing bread
and water to you, was the means of—"

"Jack, my friend," interrupted Harry, "it is my belief that the friendly
person, whom you will persist in calling a spirit, exists in the mine as
certainly as the criminal we speak of, and I mean to seek them both in the
most distant recesses of the mine."

"Perhaps I have. Listen to me! Five miles west of New Aberfoyle, under the
solid rock which supports Ben Lomond, there exists a natural shaft which
descends perpendicularly into the vein beneath. A week ago I went to
ascertain the depth of this shaft. While sounding it, and bending over the
opening as my plumb-line went down, it seemed to me that the air within
was agitated, as though beaten by huge wings."

"Some bird must have got lost among the lower galleries," replied Jack.

"But that is not all, Jack. This very morning I went back to the place,
and, listening attentively, I thought I could detect a sound like a sort
of groaning."

"Groaning!" cried Jack, "that must be nonsense; it was a current of air—unless
indeed some ghost—"

"I shall know to-morrow what it was," said Harry.

"To-morrow?" answered Jack, looking at his friend.

"Yes; to-morrow I am going down into that abyss."

"Harry! that will be a tempting of Providence."

"No, Jack, Providence will aid me in the attempt. Tomorrow, you and some
of our comrades will go with me to that shaft. I will fasten myself to a
long rope, by which you can let me down, and draw me up at a given signal.
I may depend upon you, Jack?"

"Well, Harry," said Jack, shaking his head, "I will do as you wish me; but
I tell you all the same, you are very wrong."

"Nothing venture nothing win," said Harry, in a tone of decision.
"To-morrow morning, then, at six o'clock. Be silent, and farewell!"

It must be admitted that Jack Ryan's fears were far from groundless. Harry
would expose himself to very great danger, supposing the enemy he sought
for lay concealed at the bottom of the pit into which he was going to
descend. It did not seem likely that such was the case, however.

"Why in the world," repeated Jack Ryan, "should he take all this trouble
to account for a set of facts so very easily and simply explained by the
supernatural intervention of the spirits of the mine?"

But, notwithstanding his objections to the scheme, Jack Ryan and three
miners of his gang arrived next morning with Harry at the mouth of the
opening of the suspicious shaft. Harry had not mentioned his intentions
either to James Starr or to the old overman. Jack had been discreet enough
to say nothing.

Harry had provided himself with a rope about 200 feet long. It was not
particularly thick, but very strong—sufficiently so to sustain his
weight. His friends were to let him down into the gulf, and his pulling
the cord was to be the signal to withdraw him.

The opening into this shaft or well was twelve feet wide. A beam was
thrown across like a bridge, so that the cord passing over it should hang
down the center of the opening, and save Harry from striking against the
sides in his descent.

He was ready.

"Are you still determined to explore this abyss?" whispered Jack Ryan.

"Yes, I am, Jack."

The cord was fastened round Harry's thighs and under his arms, to keep him
from rocking. Thus supported, he was free to use both his hands. A
safety-lamp hung at his belt, also a large, strong knife in a leather
sheath.

Harry advanced to the middle of the beam, around which the cord was
passed. Then his friends began to let him down, and he slowly sank into
the pit. As the rope caused him to swing gently round and round, the light
of his lamp fell in turns on all points of the side walls, so that he was
able to examine them carefully. These walls consisted of pit coal, and so
smooth that it would be impossible to ascend them.

Harry calculated that he was going down at the rate of about a foot per
second, so that he had time to look about him, and be ready for any event.

During two minutes—that is to say, to the depth of about 120 feet,
the descent continued without any incident.

No lateral gallery opened from the side walls of the pit, which was
gradually narrowing into the shape of a funnel. But Harry began to feel a
fresher air rising from beneath, whence he concluded that the bottom of
the pit communicated with a gallery of some description in the lowest part
of the mine.

The cord continued to unwind. Darkness and silence were complete. If any
living being whatever had sought refuge in the deep and mysterious abyss,
he had either left it, or, if there, by no movement did he in the
slightest way betray his presence.

Harry, becoming more suspicious the lower he got, now drew his knife and
held it in his right hand. At a depth of 180 feet, his feet touched the
lower point and the cord slackened and unwound no further.

Harry breathed more freely for a moment. One of the fears he entertained
had been that, during his descent, the cord might be cut above him, but he
had seen no projection from the walls behind which anyone could have been
concealed.

The bottom of the abyss was quite dry. Harry, taking the lamp from his
belt, walked round the place, and perceived he had been right in his
conjectures.

An extremely narrow passage led aside out of the pit. He had to stoop to
look into it, and only by creeping could it be followed; but as he wanted
to see in which direction it led, and whether another abyss opened from
it, he lay down on the ground and began to enter it on hands and knees.

An obstacle speedily arrested his progress. He fancied he could perceive
by touching it, that a human body lay across the passage. A sudden thrill
of horror and surprise made him hastily draw back, but he again advanced
and felt more carefully.

His senses had not deceived him; a body did indeed lie there; and he soon
ascertained that, although icy cold at the extremities, there was some
vital heat remaining. In less time than it takes to tell it, Harry had
drawn the body from the recess to the bottom of the shaft, and, seizing
his lamp, he cast its lights on what he had found, exclaiming immediately,
"Why, it is a child!"

The child still breathed, but so very feebly that Harry expected it to
cease every instant. Not a moment was to be lost; he must carry this poor
little creature out of the pit, and take it home to his mother as quickly
as he could. He eagerly fastened the cord round his waist, stuck on his
lamp, clasped the child to his breast with his left arm, and, keeping his
right hand free to hold the knife, he gave the signal agreed on, to have
the rope pulled up.

It tightened at once; he began the ascent. Harry looked around him with
redoubled care, for more than his own life was now in danger.

For a few minutes all went well, no accident seemed to threaten him, when
suddenly he heard the sound of a great rush of air from beneath; and,
looking down, he could dimly perceive through the gloom a broad mass
arising until it passed him, striking him as it went by.

It was an enormous bird—of what sort he could not see; it flew
upwards on mighty wings, then paused, hovered, and dashed fiercely down
upon Harry, who could only wield his knife in one hand. He defended
himself and the child as well as he could, but the ferocious bird seemed
to aim all its blows at him alone. Afraid of cutting the cord, he could
not strike it as he wished, and the struggle was prolonged, while Harry
shouted with all his might in hopes of making his comrades hear.

He soon knew they did, for they pulled the rope up faster; a distance of
about eighty feet remained to be got over. The bird ceased its direct
attack, but increased the horror and danger of his situation by rushing at
the cord, clinging to it just out of his reach, and endeavoring, by
pecking furiously, to cut it.

Harry felt overcome with terrible dread. One strand of the rope gave way,
and it made them sink a little.

A shriek of despair escaped his lips.

A second strand was divided, and the double burden now hung suspended by
only half the cord.

Harry dropped his knife, and by a superhuman effort succeeded, at the
moment the rope was giving way, in catching hold of it with his right hand
above the cut made by the beak of the bird. But, powerfully as he held it
in his iron grasp, he could feel it gradually slipping through his
fingers.

He might have caught it, and held on with both hands by sacrificing the
life of the child he supported in his left arm. The idea crossed him, but
was banished in an instant, although he believed himself quite unable to
hold out until drawn to the surface. For a second he closed his eyes,
believing they were about to plunge back into the abyss.

He looked up once more; the huge bird had disappeared; his hand was at the
very extremity of the broken rope—when, just as his convulsive grasp
was failing, he was seized by the men, and with the child was placed on
the level ground.

The fearful strain of anxiety removed, a reaction took place, and Harry
fell fainting into the arms of his friends.

CHAPTER XII. NELL ADOPTED

A COUPLE of hours later, Harry still unconscious, and the child in a very
feeble state, were brought to the cottage by Jack Ryan and his companions.
The old overman listened to the account of their adventures, while Madge
attended with the utmost care to the wants of her son, and of the poor
creature whom he had rescued from the pit.

Harry imagined her a mere child, but she was a maiden of the age of
fifteen or sixteen years.

She gazed at them with vague and wondering eyes; and the thin face, drawn
by suffering, the pallid complexion, which light could never have tinged,
and the fragile, slender figure, gave her an appearance at once singular
and attractive. Jack Ryan declared that she seemed to him to be an
uncommonly interesting kind of ghost.

It must have been due to the strange and peculiar circumstances under
which her life hitherto had been led, that she scarcely seemed to belong
to the human race. Her countenance was of a very uncommon cast, and her
eyes, hardly able to bear the lamp-light in the cottage, glanced around in
a confused and puzzled way, as if all were new to them.

As this singular being reclined on Madge's bed and awoke to consciousness,
as from a long sleep, the old Scotchwoman began to question her a little.

"What do they call you, my dear?" said she.

"Nell," replied the girl.

"Do you feel anything the matter with you, Nell?"

"I am hungry. I have eaten nothing since—since—"

Nell uttered these few words like one unused to speak much. They were in
the Gaelic language, which was often spoken by Simon and his family. Madge
immediately brought her some food; she was evidently famished. It was
impossible to say how long she might have been in that pit.

"How many days had you been down there, dearie?" inquired Madge.

Nell made no answer; she seemed not to understand the question.

"How many days, do you think?"

"Days?" repeated Nell, as though the word had no meaning for her, and she
shook her head to signify entire want of comprehension.

Madge took her hand, and stroked it caressingly. "How old are you, my
lassie?" she asked, smiling kindly at her.

Nell shook her head again.

"Yes, yes," continued Madge, "how many years old?"

"Years?" replied Nell. She seemed to understand that word no better than
days! Simon, Harry, Jack, and the rest, looked on with an air of mingled
compassion, wonder, and sympathy. The state of this poor thing, clothed in
a miserable garment of coarse woolen stuff, seemed to impress them
painfully.

Harry, more than all the rest, seemed attracted by the very peculiarity of
this poor stranger. He drew near, took Nell's hand from his mother, and
looked directly at her, while something like a smile curved her lip.
"Nell," he said, "Nell, away down there—in the mine—were you
all alone?"

"Alone! alone!" cried the girl, raising herself hastily. Her features
expressed terror; her eyes, which had appeared to soften as Harry looked
at her, became quite wild again. "Alone!" repeated she, "alone!"—and
she fell back on the bed, as though deprived of all strength.

"The poor bairn is too weak to speak to us," said Madge, when she had
adjusted the pillows. "After a good rest, and a little more food, she will
be stronger. Come away, Simon and Harry, and all the rest of you, and let
her go to sleep." So Nell was left alone, and in a very few minutes slept
profoundly.

This event caused a great sensation, not only in the coal mines, but in
Stirlingshire, and ultimately throughout the kingdom. The strangeness of
the story was exaggerated; the affair could not have made more commotion
had they found the girl enclosed in the solid rock, like one of those
antediluvian creatures who have occasionally been released by a stroke of
the pickax from their stony prison. Nell became a fashionable wonder
without knowing it. Superstitious folks made her story a new subject for
legendary marvels, and were inclined to think, as Jack Ryan told Harry,
that Nell was the spirit of the mines.

"Be it so, Jack," said the young man; "but at any rate she is the good
spirit. It can have been none but she who brought us bread and water when
we were shut up down there; and as to the bad spirit, who must still be in
the mine, we'll catch him some day."

Of course James Starr had been at once informed of all this, and came, as
soon as the young girl had sufficiently recovered her strength, to see
her, and endeavor to question her carefully.

She appeared ignorant of nearly everything relating to life, and, although
evidently intelligent, was wanting in many elementary ideas, such as time,
for instance. She had never been used to its division, and the words
signifying hours, days, months, and years were unknown to her.

Her eyes, accustomed to the night, were pained by the glare of the
electric discs; but in the dark her sight was wonderfully keen, the pupil
dilated in a remarkable manner, and she could see where to others there
appeared profound obscurity. It was certain that her brain had never
received any impression of the outer world, that her eyes had never looked
beyond the mine, and that these somber depths had been all the world to
her.

The poor girl probably knew not that there were a sun and stars, towns and
counties, a mighty universe composed of myriads of worlds. But until she
comprehended the significance of words at present conveying no precise
meaning to her, it was impossible to ascertain what she knew.

As to whether or not Nell had lived alone in the recesses of New
Aberfoyle, James Starr was obliged to remain uncertain; indeed, any
allusion to the subject excited evident alarm in the mind of this strange
girl. Either Nell could not or would not reply to questions, but that some
secret existed in connection with the place, which she could have
explained, was manifest.

"Should you like to stay with us? Should you like to go back to where we
found you?" asked James Starr.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the maiden, in answer to his first question; but a
cry of terror was all she seemed able to say to the second.

James Starr, as well as Simon and Harry Ford, could not help feeling a
certain amount of uneasiness with regard to this persistent silence. They
found it impossible to forget all that had appeared so inexplicable at the
time they made the discovery of the coal mine; and although that was three
years ago, and nothing new had happened, they always expected some fresh
attack on the part of the invisible enemy.

They resolved to explore the mysterious well, and did so, well armed and
in considerable numbers. But nothing suspicious was to be seen; the shaft
communicated with lower stages of the crypt, hollowed out in the
carboniferous bed.

Many a time did James Starr, Simon, and Harry talk over these things. If
one or more malevolent beings were concealed in the coal-pit, and there
concocted mischief, Nell surely could have warned them of it, yet she said
nothing. The slightest allusion to her past life brought on such fits of
violent emotion, that it was judged best to avoid the subject for the
present. Her secret would certainly escape her by-and-by.

By the time Nell had been a fortnight in the cottage, she had become a
most intelligent and zealous assistant to old Madge. It was clear that she
instinctively felt she should remain in the dwelling where she had been so
charitably received, and perhaps never dreamt of quitting it. This family
was all in all to her, and to the good folks themselves Nell had seemed an
adopted child from the moment when she first came beneath their roof. Nell
was in truth a charming creature; her new mode of existence added to her
beauty, for these were no doubt the first happy days of her life, and her
heart was full of gratitude towards those to whom she owed them. Madge
felt towards her as a mother would; the old woman doted upon her; in
short, she was beloved by everybody. Jack Ryan only regretted one thing,
which was that he had not saved her himself. Friend Jack often came to the
cottage. He sang, and Nell, who had never heard singing before, admired it
greatly; but anyone might see that she preferred to Jack's songs the
graver conversation of Harry, from whom by degrees she learnt truths
concerning the outer world, of which hitherto she had known nothing.

It must be said that, since Nell had appeared in her own person, Jack Ryan
had been obliged to admit that his belief in hobgoblins was in a measure
weakened. A couple of months later his credulity experienced a further
shock. About that time Harry unexpectedly made a discovery which, in part
at least, accounted for the apparition of the fire-maidens among the ruins
of Dundonald Castle at Irvine.

During several days he had been engaged in exploring the remote galleries
of the prodigious excavation towards the south. At last he scrambled with
difficulty up a narrow passage which branched off through the upper rock.
To his great astonishment, he suddenly found himself in the open air. The
passage, after ascending obliquely to the surface of the ground, led out
directly among the ruins of Dundonald Castle.

There was, therefore, a communication between New Aberfoyle and the hills
crowned by this ancient castle. The upper entrance to this gallery, being
completely concealed by stones and brushwood, was invisible from without;
at the time of their search, therefore, the magistrates had been able to
discover nothing.

A few days afterwards, James Starr, guided by Harry, came himself to
inspect this curious natural opening into the coal mine. "Well," said he,
"here is enough to convince the most superstitious among us. Farewell to
all their brownies, goblins, and fire-maidens now!"

"I hardly think, Mr. Starr, we ought to congratulate ourselves," replied
Harry. "Whatever it is we have instead of these things, it can't be
better, and may be worse than they are."

"That's true, Harry," said the engineer; "but what's to be done? It is
plain that, whatever the beings are who hide in the mine, they reach the
surface of the earth by this passage. No doubt it was the light of torches
waved by them during that dark and stormy night which attracted the MOTALA
towards the rocky coast, and like the wreckers of former days, they would
have plundered the unfortunate vessel, had it not been for Jack Ryan and
his friends. Anyhow, so far it is evident, and here is the mouth of the
den. As to its occupants, the question is—Are they here still?"

"I say yes; because Nell trembles when we mention them—yes, because
Nell will not, or dare not, speak about them," answered Harry in a tone of
decision.

Harry was surely in the right. Had these mysterious denizens of the pit
abandoned it, or ceased to visit the spot, what reason could the girl have
had for keeping silence?

James Starr could not rest till he had penetrated this mystery. He foresaw
that the whole future of the new excavations must depend upon it. Renewed
and strict precautions were therefore taken. The authorities were informed
of the discovery of the entrance. Watchers were placed among the ruins of
the castle. Harry himself lay hid for several nights in the thickets of
brushwood which clothed the hill-side.

Nothing was discovered—no human being emerged from the opening. So
most people came to the conclusion that the villains had been finally
dislodged from the mine, and that, as to Nell, they must suppose her to be
dead at the bottom of the shaft where they had left her.

While it remained unworked, the mine had been a safe enough place of
refuge, secure from all search or pursuit. But now, circumstances being
altered, it became difficult to conceal this lurking-place, and it might
reasonably be hoped they were gone, and that nothing for the future was to
be dreaded from them.

James Starr, however, could not feel sure about it; neither could Harry be
satisfied on the subject, often repeating, "Nell has clearly been mixed up
with all this secret business. If she had nothing more to fear, why should
she keep silence? It cannot be doubted that she is happy with us. She
likes us all—she adores my mother. Her absolute silence as to her
former life, when by speaking out she might benefit us, proves to me that
some awful secret, which she dares not reveal, weighs on her mind. It may
also be that she believes it better for us, as well as for herself, that
she should remain mute in a way otherwise so unaccountable."

In consequence of these opinions, it was agreed by common consent to avoid
all allusion to the maiden's former mode of life. One day, however, Harry
was led to make known to Nell what James Starr, his father, mother, and
himself believed they owed to her interference.

It was a fete-day. The miners made holiday on the surface of the county of
Stirling as well as in its subterraneous domains. Parties of
holiday-makers were moving about in all directions. Songs resounded in
many places beneath the sonorous vaults of New Aberfoyle. Harry and Nell
left the cottage, and slowly walked along the left bank of Loch Malcolm.

Then the electric brilliance darted less vividly, and the rays were
interrupted with fantastic effect by the sharp angles of the picturesque
rocks which supported the dome. This imperfect light suited Nell, to whose
eyes a glare was very unpleasant.

"Nell," said Harry, "your eyes are not fit for daylight yet, and could not
bear the brightness of the sun."

"Indeed they could not," replied the girl; "if the sun is such as you
describe it to me, Harry."

"I cannot by any words, Nell, give you an idea either of his splendor or
of the beauty of that universe which your eyes have never beheld. But tell
me, is it really possible that, since the day when you were born in the
depths of the coal mine, you never once have been up to the surface of the
earth?"

"Never once, Harry," said she; "I do not believe that, even as an infant,
my father or mother ever carried me thither. I am sure I should have
retained some impression of the open air if they had."

"I believe you would," answered Harry. "Long ago, Nell, many children used
to live altogether in the mine; communication was then difficult, and I
have met with more than one young person, quite as ignorant as you are of
things above-ground. But now the railway through our great tunnel takes us
in a few minutes to the upper regions of our country. I long, Nell, to
hear you say, 'Come, Harry, my eyes can bear daylight, and I want to see
the sun! I want to look upon the works of the Almighty.'"

"I shall soon say so, Harry, I hope," replied the girl; "I shall soon go
with you to the world above; and yet—"

"What are you going to say, Nell?" hastily cried Harry; "can you possibly
regret having quitted that gloomy abyss in which you spent your early
years, and whence we drew you half dead?"

"No, Harry," answered Nell; "I was only thinking that darkness is
beautiful as well as light. If you but knew what eyes accustomed to its
depth can see! Shades flit by, which one longs to follow; circles mingle
and intertwine, and one could gaze on them forever; black hollows, full of
indefinite gleams of radiance, lie deep at the bottom of the mine. And
then the voice-like sounds! Ah, Harry! one must have lived down there to
understand what I feel, what I can never express."

"And were you not afraid, Nell, all alone there?"

"It was just when I was alone that I was not afraid."

Nell's voice altered slightly as she said these words; however, Harry
thought he might press the subject a little further, so he said, "But one
might be easily lost in these great galleries, Nell. Were you not afraid
of losing your way?"

"Oh, no, Harry; for a long time I had known every turn of the new mine."

"Did you never leave it?"

"Yes, now and then," answered the girl with a little hesitation;
"sometimes I have been as far as the old mine of Aberfoyle."

"So you knew our old cottage?"

"The cottage! oh, yes; but the people who lived there I only saw at a
great distance."

"They were my father and mother," said Harry; "and I was there too; we
have always lived there—we never would give up the old dwelling."

"Perhaps it would have been better for you if you had," murmured the
maiden.

"Why so, Nell? Was it not just because we were obstinately resolved to
remain that we ended by discovering the new vein of coal? And did not that
discovery lead to the happy result of providing work for a large
population, and restoring them to ease and comfort? and did it not enable
us to find you, Nell, to save your life, and give you the love of all our
hearts?"

"Oh, nothing—nothing. But it used to be very dangerous at that time
to go into the new cutting—yes, very dangerous indeed, Harry! Once
some rash people made their way into these chasms. They got a long, long
way; they were lost!"

"They were lost?" said Harry, looking at her.

"Yes, lost!" repeated Nell in a trembling voice. "They could not find
their way out."

"And there," cried Harry, "they were imprisoned during eight long days!
They were at the point of death, Nell; and, but for a kind and charitable
being—an angel perhaps—sent by God to help them, who secretly
brought them a little food; but for a mysterious guide, who afterwards led
to them their deliverers, they never would have escaped from that living
tomb!"

"And how do you know about that?" demanded the girl.

"Because those men were James Starr, my father, and myself, Nell!"

Nell looked up hastily, seized the young man's hand, and gazed so fixedly
into his eyes that his feelings were stirred to their depths. "You were
there?" at last she uttered.

"I was indeed," said Harry, after a pause, "and she to whom we owe our
lives can have been none other than yourself, Nell!"

Nell hid her face in her hands without speaking. Harry had never seen her
so much affected.

"Those who saved your life, Nell," added he in a voice tremulous with
emotion, "already owed theirs to you; do you think they will ever forget
it?"

CHAPTER XIII. ON THE REVOLVING LADDER

THE mining operations at New Aberfoyle continued to be carried on very
successfully. As a matter of course, the engineer, James Starr, as well as
Simon Ford, the discoverers of this rich carboniferous region, shared
largely in the profits.

In time Harry became a partner. But he never thought of quitting the
cottage. He took his father's place as overman, and diligently
superintended the works of this colony of miners. Jack Ryan was proud and
delighted at the good fortune which had befallen his comrade. He himself
was getting on very well also.

They frequently met, either at the cottage or at the works in the pit.
Jack did not fail to remark the sentiments entertained by Harry towards
Nell. Harry would not confess to them; but Jack only laughed at him when
he shook his head and tried to deny any special interest in her.

It must be noted that Jack Ryan had the greatest possible wish to be of
the party when Nell should pay her first visit to the upper surface of the
county of Stirling. He wished to see her wonder and admiration on first
beholding the yet unknown face of Nature. He very much hoped that Harry
would take him with them when the excursion was made. As yet, however, the
latter had made no proposal of the kind to him, which caused him to feel a
little uneasy as to his intentions.

One morning Jack Ryan was descending through a shaft which led from the
surface to the lower regions of the pit. He did so by means of one of
those ladders which, continually revolving by machinery, enabled persons
to ascend and descend without fatigue. This apparatus had lowered him
about a hundred and fifty feet, when at a narrow landing-place he
perceived Harry, who was coming up to his labors for the day.

"Well met, my friend!" cried Jack, recognizing his comrade by the light of
the electric lamps.

"Nell is all right, Jack—so much so, in fact, that I hope in a month
or six weeks—"

"To marry her, Harry?"

"Jack, you don't know what you are talking about!"

"Ah, that's very likely; but I know quite well what I shall do."

"What will you do?"

"Marry her myself, if you don't; so look sharp," laughed Jack. "By Saint
Mungo! I think an immense deal of bonny Nell! A fine young creature like
that, who has been brought up in the mine, is just the very wife for a
miner. She is an orphan—so am I; and if you don't care much for her,
and if she will have me—"

Harry looked gravely at Jack, and let him talk on without trying to stop
him. "Don't you begin to feel jealous, Harry?" asked Jack in a more
serious tone.

"Not at all," answered Harry quietly.

"But if you don't marry Nell yourself, you surely can't expect her to
remain a spinster?"

"I expect nothing," said Harry.

A movement of the ladder machinery now gave the two friends the
opportunity—one to go up, the other down the shaft. However, they
remained where they were.

"Harry," quoth Jack, "do you think I spoke in earnest just now about
Nell?"

"No, that I don't, Jack."

"Well, but now I will!"

"You? speak in earnest?"

"My good fellow, I can tell you I am quite capable of giving a friend a
bit of advice."

"Let's hear, then, Jack!"

"Well, look here! You love Nell as heartily as she deserves. Old Simon,
your father, and old Madge, your mother, both love her as if she were
their daughter. Why don't you make her so in reality? Why don't you marry
her?"

"Come, Jack," said Harry, "you are running on as if you knew how Nell felt
on the subject."

"Everybody knows that," replied Jack, "and therefore it is impossible to
make you jealous of any of us. But here goes the ladder again—I'm
off!"

"Stop a minute, Jack!" cried Harry, detaining his companion, who was
stepping onto the moving staircase.

"I say! you seem to mean me to take up my quarters here altogether!"

"Do be serious and listen, Jack! I want to speak in earnest myself now."

"Well, I'll listen till the ladder moves again, not a minute longer."

"Jack," resumed Harry, "I need not pretend that I do not love Nell; I wish
above all things to make her my wife."

"That's all right!"

"But for the present I have scruples of conscience as to asking her to
make me a promise which would be irrevocable."

"What can you mean, Harry?"

"I mean just this—that, it being certain Nell has never been outside
this coal mine in the very depths of which she was born, it stands to
reason that she knows nothing, and can comprehend nothing of what exists
beyond it. Her eyes—yes, and perhaps also her heart—have
everything yet to learn. Who can tell what her thoughts will be, when
perfectly new impressions shall be made upon her mind? As yet she knows
nothing of the world, and to me it would seem like deceiving her, if I led
her to decide in ignorance, upon choosing to remain all her life in the
coal mine. Do you understand me, Jack?"

"Hem!—yes—pretty well. What I understand best is that you are
going to make me miss another turn of the ladder."

"Jack," replied Harry gravely, "if this machinery were to stop altogether,
if this landing-place were to fall beneath our feet, you must and shall
hear what I have to say."

"Well done, Harry! that's how I like to be spoken to! Let's settle, then,
that, before you marry Nell, she shall go to school in Auld Reekie."

"No indeed, Jack; I am perfectly able myself to educate the person who is
to be my wife."

"Sure that will be a great deal better, Harry!"

"But, first of all," resumed Harry, "I wish that Nell should gain a real
knowledge of the upper world. To illustrate my meaning, Jack, suppose you
were in love with a blind girl, and someone said to you, 'In a month's
time her sight will be restored,' would you not wait till after she was
cured, to marry her?"

"Faith, to be sure I would!" exclaimed Jack.

"Well, Jack, Nell is at present blind; and before she marries me, I wish
her to see what I am, and what the life really is to which she would bind
herself. In short, she must have daylight let in upon the subject!"

"Well said, Harry! Very well said indeed!" cried Jack. "Now I see what you
are driving at. And when may we expect the operation to come off?"

"In a month, Jack," replied Harry. "Nell is getting used to the light of
our reflectors. That is some preparation. In a month she will, I hope,
have seen the earth and its wonders—the sky and its splendors. She
will perceive that the limits of the universe are boundless."

But while Harry was thus giving the rein to his imagination, Jack Ryan,
quitting the platform, had leaped on the step of the moving machinery.

"Hullo, Jack! Where are you?"

"Far beneath you," laughed the merry fellow. "While you soar to the
heights, I plunge into the depths."

"Fare ye well. Jack!" returned Harry, himself laying hold of the rising
ladder; "mind you say nothing about what I have been telling you."

"Not a word," shouted Jack, "but I make one condition."

"What is that?"

"That I may be one of the party when Nell's first excursion to the face of
the earth comes off!"

"So you shall, Jack, I promise you!"

A fresh throb of the machinery placed a yet more considerable distance
between the friends. Their voices sounded faintly to each other. Harry,
however, could still hear Jack shouting:

"I say! do you know what Nell will like better than either sun, moon, or
stars, after she's seen the whole of them?"

"No, Jack!"

"Why, you yourself, old fellow! still you! always you!" And Jack's voice
died away in a prolonged "Hurrah!"

Harry, after this, applied himself diligently, during all his spare time,
to the work of Nell's education. He taught her to read and to write, and
such rapid progress did she make, it might have been said that she learnt
by instinct. Never did keen intelligence more quickly triumph over utter
ignorance. It was the wonder of all beholders.

Simon and Madge became every day more and more attached to their adopted
child, whose former history continued to puzzle them a good deal. They
plainly saw the nature of Harry's feelings towards her, and were far from
displeased thereat. They recollected that Simon had said to the engineer
on his first visit to the old cottage, "How can our son ever think of
marrying? Where could a wife possibly be found suitable for a lad whose
whole life must be passed in the depths of a coal mine?"

Well! now it seemed as if the most desirable companion in the world had
been led to him by Providence. Was not this like a blessing direct from
Heaven? So the old man made up his mind that, if the wedding did take
place, the miners of New Aberfoyle should have a merry-making at Coal
Town, which they would never during their lives forget. Simon Ford little
knew what he was saying!

It must be remarked that another person wished for this union of Harry and
Nell as much as Simon did—and that was James Starr, the engineer. Of
course he was really interested in the happiness of the two young people.
But another motive, connected with wider interests, influenced him to
desire it.

It has been said that James Starr continued to entertain a certain amount
of apprehension, although for the present nothing appeared to justify it.
Yet that which had been might again be. This mystery about the new cutting—Nell
was evidently the only person acquainted with it. Now, if fresh dangers
were in store for the miners of Aberfoyle, how were they possibly to be
guarded against, without so much as knowing the cause of them?

"Nell has persisted in keeping silence," said James Starr very often, "but
what she has concealed from others, she will not long hide from her
husband. Any danger would be danger to Harry as well as to the rest of us.
Therefore, a marriage which brings happiness to the lovers, and safety to
their friends, will be a good marriage, if ever there is such a thing here
below."

Thus, not illogically, reasoned James Starr. He communicated his ideas to
old Simon, who decidedly appreciated them. Nothing, then, appeared to
stand in the way of the match. What, in fact, was there to prevent it?
They loved each other; the parents desired nothing better for their son.
Harry's comrades envied his good fortune, but freely acknowledged that he
deserved it. The maiden depended on no one else, and had but to give the
consent of her own heart.

Why, then, if there were none to place obstacles in the way of this union—why,
as night came on, and, the labors of the day being over, the electric
lights in the mine were extinguished, and all the inhabitants of Coal Town
at rest within their dwellings—why did a mysterious form always
emerge from the gloomier recesses of New Aberfoyle, and silently glide
through the darkness?

What instinct guided this phantom with ease through passages so narrow as
to appear to be impracticable?

Why should the strange being, with eyes flashing through the deepest
darkness, come cautiously creeping along the shores of Lake Malcolm? Why
so directly make his way towards Simon's cottage, yet so carefully as
hitherto to avoid notice? Why, bending towards the windows, did he strive
to catch, by listening, some fragment of the conversation within the
closed shutters?

And, on catching a few words, why did he shake his fist with a menacing
gesture towards the calm abode, while from between his set teeth issued
these words in muttered fury, "She and he? Never! never!"

CHAPTER XIV. A SUNRISE

A MONTH after this, on the evening of the 20th of August, Simon Ford and
Madge took leave, with all manner of good wishes, of four tourists, who
were setting forth from the cottage.

James Starr, Harry, and Jack Ryan were about to lead Nell's steps over yet
untrodden paths, and to show her the glories of nature by a light to which
she was as yet a stranger. The excursion was to last for two days. James
Starr, as well as Harry, considered that during these eight and forty
hours spent above ground, the maiden would be able to see everything of
which she must have remained ignorant in the gloomy pit; all the varied
aspects of the globe, towns, plains, mountains, rivers, lakes, gulfs, and
seas would pass, panorama-like, before her eyes.

In that part of Scotland lying between Edinburgh and Glasgow, nature would
seem to have collected and set forth specimens of every one of these
terrestrial beauties. As to the heavens, they would be spread abroad as
over the whole earth, with their changeful clouds, serene or veiled moon,
their radiant sun, and clustering stars. The expedition had been planned
so as to combine a view of all these things.

Simon and Madge would have been glad to go with Nell; but they never left
their cottage willingly, and could not make up their minds to quit their
subterranean home for a single day.

James Starr went as an observer and philosopher, curious to note, from a
psychological point of view, the novel impressions made upon Nell; perhaps
also with some hope of detecting a clue to the mysterious events connected
with her childhood. Harry, with a little trepidation, asked himself
whether it was not possible that this rapid initiation into the things of
the exterior world would change the maiden he had known and loved hitherto
into quite a different girl. As for Jack Ryan, he was as joyous as a lark
rising in the first beams of the sun. He only trusted that his gayety
would prove contagious, and enliven his traveling companions, thus
rewarding them for letting him join them. Nell was pensive and silent.

James Starr had decided, very sensibly, to set off in the evening. It
would be very much better for the girl to pass gradually from the darkness
of night to the full light of day; and that would in this way be managed,
since between midnight and noon she would experience the successive phases
of shade and sunshine, to which her sight had to get accustomed.

Just as they left the cottage, Nell took Harry's hand saying, "Harry, is
it really necessary for me to leave the mine at all, even for these few
days?"

"Yes, it is, Nell," replied the young man. "It is needful for both of us."

"But, Harry," resumed Nell, "ever since you found me, I have been as happy
as I can possibly be. You have been teaching me. Why is that not enough?
What am I going up there for?"

Harry looked at her in silence. Nell was giving utterance to nearly his
own thoughts.

"My child," said James Starr, "I can well understand the hesitation you
feel; but it will be good for you to go with us. Those who love you are
taking you, and they will bring you back again. Afterwards you will be
free, if you wish it, to continue your life in the coal mine, like old
Simon, and Madge, and Harry. But at least you ought to be able to compare
what you give up with what you choose, then decide freely. Come!"

"Come, dear Nell!" cried Harry.

"Harry, I am willing to follow you," replied the maiden. At nine o'clock
the last train through the tunnel started to convey Nell and her
companions to the surface of the earth. Twenty minutes later they alighted
on the platform where the branch line to New Aberfoyle joins the railway
from Dumbarton to Stirling.

The night was already dark. From the horizon to the zenith, light vapory
clouds hurried through the upper air, driven by a refreshing northwesterly
breeze. The day had been lovely; the night promised to be so likewise.

On reaching Stirling, Nell and her friends, quitting the train, left the
station immediately. Just before them, between high trees, they could see
a road which led to the banks of the river Forth.

The first physical impression on the girl was the purity of the air
inhaled eagerly by her lungs.

"Breathe it freely, Nell," said James Starr; "it is fragrant with all the
scents of the open country."

"What is all that smoke passing over our heads?" inquired Nell.

"Those are clouds," answered Harry, "blown along by the westerly wind."

"Ah!" said Nell, "how I should like to feel myself carried along in that
silent whirl! And what are those shining sparks which glance here and
there between rents in the clouds?"

"Those are the stars I have told you about, Nell. So many suns they are,
so many centers of worlds like our own, most likely."

The constellations became more clearly visible as the wind cleared the
clouds from the deep blue of the firmament. Nell gazed upon the myriad
stars which sparkled overhead. "But how is it," she said at length, "that
if these are suns, my eyes can endure their brightness?"

"My child," replied James Starr, "they are indeed suns, but suns at an
enormous distance. The nearest of these millions of stars, whose rays can
reach us, is Vega, that star in Lyra which you observe near the zenith,
and that is fifty thousand millions of leagues distant. Its brightness,
therefore, cannot affect your vision. But our own sun, which will rise
to-morrow, is only distant thirty-eight millions of leagues, and no human
eye can gaze fixedly upon that, for it is brighter than the blaze of any
furnace. But come, Nell, come!"

They pursued their way, James Starr leading the maiden, Harry walking by
her side, while Jack Ryan roamed about like a young dog, impatient of the
slow pace of his masters. The road was lonely. Nell kept looking at the
great trees, whose branches, waving in the wind, made them seem to her
like giants gesticulating wildly. The sound of the breeze in the
tree-tops, the deep silence during a lull, the distant line of the
horizon, which could be discerned when the road passed over open levels—all
these things filled her with new sensations, and left lasting impressions
on her mind.

After some time she ceased to ask questions, and her companions respected
her silence, not wishing to influence by any words of theirs the girl's
highly sensitive imagination, but preferring to allow ideas to arise
spontaneously in her soul.

At about half past eleven o'clock, they gained the banks of the river
Forth. There a boat, chartered by James Starr, awaited them. In a few
hours it would convey them all to Granton. Nell looked at the clear water
which flowed up to her feet, as the waves broke gently on the beach,
reflecting the starlight. "Is this a lake?" said she.

"No," replied Harry, "it is a great river flowing towards the sea, and
soon opening so widely as to resemble a gulf. Taste a little of the water
in the hollow of your hand, Nell, and you will perceive that it is not
sweet like the waters of Lake Malcolm."

The maiden bent towards the stream, and, raising a little water to her
lips, "This is quite salt," said she.

"Yes, the tide is full; the sea water flows up the river as far as this,"
answered Harry.

"Oh, Harry! Harry!" exclaimed the maiden, "what can that red glow on the
horizon be? Is it a forest on fire?"

"No, it is the rising moon, Nell."

"To be sure, that's the moon," cried Jack Ryan, "a fine big silver plate,
which the spirits of air hand round and round the sky to collect the stars
in, like money."

"Why, Jack," said the engineer, laughing, "I had no idea you could strike
out such bold comparisons!"

"Well, but, Mr. Starr, it is a just comparison. Don't you see the stars
disappear as the moon passes on? so I suppose they drop into it."

"What you mean to say, Jack, is that the superior brilliancy of the moon
eclipses that of stars of the sixth magnitude, therefore they vanish as
she approaches."

"How beautiful all this is!" repeated Nell again and again, with her whole
soul in her eyes. "But I thought the moon was round?"

"So she is, when 'full,'" said James Starr; "that means when she is just
opposite to the sun. But to-night the moon is in the last quarter, shorn
of her just proportions, and friend Jack's grand silver plate looks more
like a barber's basin."

"Oh, Mr. Starr, what a base comparison!" he exclaimed, "I was just going
to begin a sonnet to the moon, but your barber's basin has destroyed all
chance of an inspiration."

Gradually the moon ascended the heavens. Before her light the lingering
clouds fled away, while stars still sparkled in the west, beyond the
influence of her radiance. Nell gazed in silence on the glorious
spectacle. The soft silvery light was pleasant to her eyes, and her little
trembling hand expressed to Harry, who clasped it, how deeply she was
affected by the scene.

"Let us embark now," said James Starr. "We have to get to the top of
Arthur's Seat before sunrise."

The boat was moored to a post on the bank. A boatman awaited them. Nell
and her friends took their seats; the sail was spread; it quickly filled
before the northwesterly breeze, and they sped on their way.

What a new sensation was this for the maiden! She had been rowed on the
waters of Lake Malcolm; but the oar, handled ever so lightly by Harry,
always betrayed effort on the part of the oarsman. Now, for the first
time, Nell felt herself borne along with a gliding movement, like that of
a balloon through the air. The water was smooth as a lake, and Nell
reclined in the stern of the boat, enjoying its gentle rocking.
Occasionally the effect of the moonlight on the waters was as though the
boat sailed across a glittering silver field. Little wavelets rippled
along the banks. It was enchanting.

At length Nell was overcome with drowsiness, her eyelids drooped, her head
sank on Harry's shoulder—she slept. Harry, sorry that she should
miss any of the beauties of this magnificent night, would have aroused
her.

"Let her sleep!" said the engineer. "She will better enjoy the novelties
of the day after a couple of hours' rest."

At two o'clock in the morning the boat reached Granton pier. Nell awoke.
"Have I been asleep?" inquired she.

"No, my child," said James Starr. "You have been dreaming that you slept,
that's all."

The night continued clear. The moon, riding in mid-heaven, diffused her
rays on all sides. In the little port of Granton lay two or three fishing
boats; they rocked gently on the waters of the Firth. The wind fell as the
dawn approached. The atmosphere, clear of mists, promised one of those
fine autumn days so delicious on the sea coast.

A soft, transparent film of vapor lay along the horizon; the first sunbeam
would dissipate it; to the maiden it exhibited that aspect of the sea
which seems to blend it with the sky. Her view was now enlarged, without
producing the impression of the boundless infinity of ocean.

Harry taking Nell's hand, they followed James Starr and Jack Ryan as they
traversed the deserted streets. To Nell, this suburb of the capital
appeared only a collection of gloomy dark houses, just like Coal Town,
only that the roof was higher, and gleamed with small lights.

She stepped lightly forward, and easily kept pace with Harry. "Are you not
tired, Nell?" asked he, after half an hour's walking.

"No! my feet seem scarcely to touch the earth," returned she. "This sky
above us seems so high up, I feel as if I could take wing and fly!"

"I say! keep hold of her!" cried Jack Ryan. "Our little Nell is too good
to lose. I feel just as you describe though, myself, when I have not left
the pit for a long time."

"It is when we no longer experience the oppressive effect of the vaulted
rocky roof above Coal Town," said James Starr, "that the spacious
firmament appears to us like a profound abyss into which we have, as it
were, a desire to plunge. Is that what you feel, Nell?"

"Ah! you will soon get over that, Nell," said Harry. "You will get used to
the outer world, and most likely forget all about our dark coal pit."

"No, Harry, never!" said Nell, and she put her hand over her eyes, as
though she would recall the remembrance of everything she had lately
quitted.

Between the silent dwellings of the city, the party passed along Leith
Walk, and went round the Calton Hill, where stood, in the light of the
gray dawn, the buildings of the Observatory and Nelson's Monument. By
Regent's Bridge and the North Bridge they at last reached the lower
extremity of the Canongate. The town still lay wrapt in slumber.

Nell pointed to a large building in the center of an open space, asking,
"What great confused mass is that?"

"That confused mass, Nell, is the palace of the ancient kings of Scotland;
that is Holyrood, where many a sad scene has been enacted! The historian
can here invoke many a royal shade; from those of the early Scottish kings
to that of the unhappy Mary Stuart, and the French king, Charles X. When
day breaks, however, Nell, this palace will not look so very gloomy.
Holyrood, with its four embattled towers, is not unlike some handsome
country house. But let us pursue our way. There, just above the ancient
Abbey of Holyrood, are the superb cliffs called Salisbury Crags. Arthur's
Seat rises above them, and that is where we are going. From the summit of
Arthur's Seat, Nell, your eyes shall behold the sun appear above the
horizon seaward."

They entered the King's Park, then, gradually ascending they passed across
the Queen's Drive, a splendid carriageway encircling the hill, which we
owe to a few lines in one of Sir Walter Scott's romances.

Arthur's Seat is in truth only a hill, seven hundred and fifty feet high,
which stands alone amid surrounding heights. In less than half an hour, by
an easy winding path, James Starr and his party reached the crest of the
crouching lion, which, seen from the west, Arthur's Seat so much
resembles. There, all four seated themselves; and James Starr, ever ready
with quotations from the great Scottish novelist, simply said, "Listen to
what is written by Sir Walter Scott in the eighth chapter of the Heart of
Mid-Lothian. 'If I were to choose a spot from which the rising or setting
sun could be seen to the greatest possible advantage, it would be from
this neighborhood.' Now watch, Nell! the sun will soon appear, and for the
first time you will contemplate its splendor."

The maiden turned her eyes eastward. Harry, keeping close beside her,
observed her with anxious interest. Would the first beams of day overpower
her feelings? All remained quiet, even Jack Ryan. A faint streak of pale
rose tinted the light vapors of the horizon. It was the first ray of light
attacking the laggards of the night. Beneath the hill lay the silent city,
massed confusedly in the twilight of dawn. Here and there lights twinkled
among the houses of the old town. Westward rose many hill-tops, soon to be
illuminated by tips of fire.

Now the distant horizon of the sea became more plainly visible. The scale
of colors fell into the order of the solar. Every instant they increased
in intensity, rose color became red, red became fiery, daylight dawned.
Nell now glanced towards the city, of which the outlines became more
distinct. Lofty monuments, slender steeples emerged from the gloom; a kind
of ashy light was spread abroad. At length one solitary ray struck on the
maiden's sight. It was that ray of green which, morning or evening, is
reflected upwards from the sea when the horizon is clear.

An instant afterwards, Nell turned, and pointing towards a bright
prominent point in the New Town, "Fire!" cried she.

"No, Nell, that is no fire," said Harry. "The sun has touched with gold
the top of Sir Walter Scott's monument"—and, indeed, the extreme
point of the monument blazed like the light of a pharos.

It was day—the sun arose—his disc seemed to glitter as though
he indeed emerged from the waters of the sea. Appearing at first very
large from the effects of refraction, he contracted as he rose and assumed
the perfectly circular form. Soon no eye could endure the dazzling
splendor; it was as though the mouth of a furnace was opened through the
sky.

Nell closed her eyes, but her eyelids could not exclude the glare, and she
pressed her fingers over them. Harry advised her to turn in the opposite
direction. "Oh, no," said she, "my eyes must get used to look at what
yours can bear to see!"

Even through her hands Nell perceived a rosy light, which became more
white as the sun rose above the horizon. As her sight became accustomed to
it, her eyelids were raised, and at length her eyes drank in the light of
day.

The good child knelt down, exclaiming, "Oh Lord God! how beautiful is Thy
creation!" Then she rose and looked around. At her feet extended the
panorama of Edinburgh—the clear, distinct lines of streets in the
New Town, and the irregular mass of houses, with their confused network of
streets and lanes, which constitutes Auld Reekie, properly so called. Two
heights commanded the entire city; Edinburgh Castle, crowning its huge
basaltic rock, and the Calton Hill, bearing on its rounded summit, among
other monuments, ruins built to represent those of the Parthenon at
Athens.

Fine roadways led in all directions from the capital. To the north, the
coast of the noble Firth of Forth was indented by a deep bay, in which
could be seen the seaport town of Leith, between which and this Modern
Athens of the north ran a street, straight as that leading to the Piraeus.

Beyond the wide Firth could be seen the soft outlines of the county of
Fife, while beneath the spectator stretched the yellow sands of Portobello
and Newhaven.

Nell could not speak. Her lips murmured a word or two indistinctly; she
trembled, became giddy, her strength failed her; overcome by the purity of
the air and the sublimity of the scene, she sank fainting into Harry's
arms, who, watching her closely, was ready to support her.

The youthful maiden, hitherto entombed in the massive depths of the earth,
had now obtained an idea of the universe—of the works both of God
and of man. She had looked upon town and country, and beyond these, into
the immensity of the sea, the infinity of the heavens.

CHAPTER XV. LOCH LOMOND AND LOCH KATRINE

HARRY bore Nell carefully down the steeps of Arthur's Seat, and,
accompanied by James Starr and Jack Ryan, they reached Lambert's Hotel.
There a good breakfast restored their strength, and they began to make
further plans for an excursion to the Highland lakes.

Nell was now refreshed, and able to look boldly forth into the sunshine,
while her lungs with ease inhaled the free and healthful air. Her eyes
learned gladly to know the harmonious varieties of color as they rested on
the green trees, the azure skies, and all the endless shades of lovely
flowers and plants.

The railway train, which they entered at the Waverley Station, conveyed
Nell and her friends to Glasgow. There, from the new bridge across the
Clyde, they watched the curious sea-like movement of the river. After a
night's rest at Comrie's Royal Hotel, they betook themselves to the
terminus of the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, from whence a train would
rapidly carry them, by way of Dumbarton and Balloch, to the southern
extremity of Loch Lomond.

"Now for the land of Rob Roy and Fergus MacIvor!—the scenery
immortalized by the poetical descriptions of Walter Scott," exclaimed
James Starr. "You don't know this country, Jack?"

"Only by its songs, Mr. Starr," replied Jack; "and judging by those, it
must be grand."

"So it is, so it is!" cried the engineer, "and our dear Nell shall see it
to the best advantage."

A steamboat, the SINCLAIR by name, awaited tourists about to make the
excursion to the lakes. Nell and her companions went on board. The day had
begun in brilliant sunshine, free from the British fogs which so often
veil the skies.

The passengers were determined to lose none of the beauties of nature to
be displayed during the thirty miles' voyage. Nell, seated between James
Starr and Harry, drank in with every faculty the magnificent poetry with
which lovely Scottish scenery is fraught. Numerous small isles and islets
soon appeared, as though thickly sown on the bosom of the lake. The
SINCLAIR steamed her way among them, while between them glimpses could be
had of quiet valleys, or wild rocky gorges on the mainland.

"Nell," said James Starr, "every island here has its legend, perhaps its
song, as well as the mountains which overshadow the lake. One may, without
much exaggeration, say that the history of this country is written in
gigantic characters of mountains and islands."

Nell listened, but these fighting stories made her sad. Why all that
bloodshed on plains which to her seemed enormous, and where surely there
must have been room for everybody?

The shores of the lake form a little harbor at Luss. Nell could for a
moment catch sight of the old tower of its ancient castle. Then, the
SINCLAIR turning northward, the tourists gazed upon Ben Lomond, towering
nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the lake.

"Oh, what a noble mountain!" cried Nell; "what a view there must be from
the top!"

"Yes, Nell," answered James Starr; "see how haughtily its peak rises from
amidst the thicket of oaks, birches, and heather, which clothe the lower
portion of the mountain! From thence one may see two-thirds of old
Caledonia. This eastern side of the lake was the special abode of the clan
McGregor. At no great distance, the struggles of the Jacobites and
Hanoverians repeatedly dyed with blood these lonely glens. Over these
scenes shines the pale moon, called in old ballads 'Macfarlane's lantern.'
Among these rocks still echo the immortal names of Rob Roy and McGregor
Campbell."

As the SINCLAIR advanced along the base of the mountain, the country
became more and more abrupt in character. Trees were only scattered here
and there; among them were the willows, slender wands of which were
formerly used for hanging persons of low degree.

"To economize hemp," remarked James Starr.

The lake narrowed very much as it stretched northwards.

The steamer passed a few more islets, Inveruglas, Eilad-whow, where stand
some ruins of a stronghold of the clan MacFarlane. At length the head of
the loch was reached, and the SINCLAIR stopped at Inversnaid.

Leaving Loch Arklet on the left, a steep ascent led to the Inn of
Stronachlacar, on the banks of Loch Katrine.

There, at the end of a light pier, floated a small steamboat, named, as a
matter of course, the Rob Roy. The travelers immediately went on board; it
was about to start. Loch Katrine is only ten miles in length; its width
never exceeds two miles. The hills nearest it are full of a character
peculiar to themselves.

"Here we are on this famous lake," said James Starr. "It has been compared
to an eel on account of its length and windings: and justly so. They say
that it never freezes. I know nothing about that, but what we want to
think of is, that here are the scenes of the adventures in the Lady of the
Lake. I believe, if friend Jack looked about him carefully, he might see,
still gliding over the surface of the water, the shade of the slender form
of sweet Ellen Douglas."

"To be sure, Mr. Starr," replied Jack; "why should I not? I may just as
well see that pretty girl on the waters of Loch Katrine, as those ugly
ghosts on Loch Malcolm in the coal pit."

It was by this time three o'clock in the afternoon. The less hilly shores
of Loch Katrine westward extended like a picture framed between Ben An and
Ben Venue. At the distance of half a mile was the entrance to the narrow
bay, where was the landing-place for our tourists, who meant to return to
Stirling by Callander.

Nell appeared completely worn out by the continued excitement of the day.
A faint ejaculation was all she was able to utter in token of admiration
as new objects of wonder or beauty met her gaze. She required some hours
of rest, were it but to impress lastingly the recollection of all she had
seen.

Her hand rested in Harry's, and, looking earnestly at her, he said, "Nell,
dear Nell, we shall soon be home again in the gloomy region of the coal
mine. Shall you not pine for what you have seen during these few hours
spent in the glorious light of day?"

"No, Harry," replied the girl; "I shall like to think about it, but I am
glad to go back with you to our dear old home."

"Nell!" said Harry, vainly attempting to steady his voice, "are you
willing to be bound to me by the most sacred tie? Could you marry me,
Nell?"

"Yes, Harry, I could, if you are sure that I am able to make you happy,"
answered the maiden, raising her innocent eyes to his.

Scarcely had she pronounced these words when an unaccountable phenomenon
took place. The Rob Roy, still half a mile from land, experienced a
violent shock. She suddenly grounded. No efforts of the engine could move
her.

The cause of this accident was simply that Loch Katrine was all at once
emptied, as though an enormous fissure had opened in its bed. In a few
seconds it had the appearance of a sea beach at low water. Nearly the
whole of its contents had vanished into the bosom of the earth.

"My friends!" exclaimed James Starr, as the cause of this marvel became
suddenly clear to him, "God help New Aberfoyle!"

CHAPTER XVI. A FINAL THREAT

ON that day, in the colliery of New Aberfoyle, work was going on in the
usual regular way. In the distance could be heard the crash of great
charges of dynamite, by which the carboniferous rocks were blasted. Here
masses of coal were loosened by pick-ax and crowbar; there the perforating
machines, with their harsh grating, bored through the masses of sandstone
and schist.

Hollow, cavernous noises resounded on all sides. Draughts of air rushed
along the ventilating galleries, and the wooden swing-doors slammed
beneath their violent gusts. In the lower tunnels, trains of trucks kept
passing along at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, while at their
approach electric bells warned the workmen to cower down in the refuge
places. Lifts went incessantly up and down, worked by powerful engines on
the surface of the soil. Coal Town was throughout brilliantly lighted by
the electric lamps at full power.

Mining operations were being carried on with the greatest activity; coal
was being piled incessantly into the trucks, which went in hundreds to
empty themselves into the corves at the bottom of the shaft. While parties
of miners who had labored during the night were taking needful rest, the
others worked without wasting an hour.

Old Simon Ford and Madge, having finished their dinner, were resting at
the door of their cottage. Simon smoked a good pipe of tobacco, and from
time to time the old couple spoke of Nell, of their boy, of Mr. Starr, and
wondered how they liked their trip to the surface of the earth. Where
would they be now? What would they be doing? How could they stay so long
away from the mine without feeling homesick?

Just then a terrific roaring noise was heard. It was like the sound of a
mighty cataract rushing down into the mine. The old people rose hastily.
They perceived at once that the waters of Loch Malcolm were rising. A
great wave, unfurling like a billow, swept up the bank and broke against
the walls of the cottage. Simon caught his wife in his arms, and carried
her to the upper part of their dwelling.

At the same moment, cries arose from all parts of Coal Town, which was
threatened by a sudden inundation. The inhabitants fled for safety to the
top of the schist rocks bordering the lake; terror spread in all
directions; whole families in frantic haste rushed towards the tunnel in
order to reach the upper regions of the pit.

It was feared that the sea had burst into the colliery, for its galleries
and passages penetrated as far as the Caledonian Canal. In that case the
entire excavation, vast as it was, would be completely flooded. Not a
single inhabitant of New Aberfoyle would escape death.

But when the foremost fugitives reached the entrance to the tunnel, they
encountered Simon Ford, who had quitted his cottage. "Stop, my friends,
stop!" shouted the old man; "if our town is to be overwhelmed, the floods
will rush faster than you can; no one can possibly escape. But see! the
waters are rising no further! it appears to me the danger is over."

"And our comrades at the far end of the works—what about them?"
cried some of the miners.

"There is nothing to fear for them," replied Simon; "they are working on a
higher level than the bed of the loch."

It was soon evident that the old man was in the right. The sudden influx
of water had rushed to the very lowest bed of the vast mine, and its only
ultimate effect was to raise the level of Loch Malcolm a few feet. Coal
Town was uninjured, and it was reasonable to hope that no one had perished
in the flood of water which had descended to the depths of the mine never
yet penetrated by the workmen.

Simon and his men could not decide whether this inundation was owing to
the overflow of a subterranean sheet of water penetrating fissures in the
solid rock, or to some underground torrent breaking through its worn bed,
and precipitating itself to the lowest level of the mine. But that very
same evening they knew what to think about it, for the local papers
published an account of the marvelous phenomenon which Loch Katrine had
exhibited.

The surprising news was soon after confirmed by the four travelers, who,
returning with all possible speed to the cottage, learned with extreme
satisfaction that no serious damage was done in New Aberfoyle.

The bed of Loch Katrine had fairly given way. The waters had suddenly
broken through by an enormous fissure into the mine beneath. Of Sir Walter
Scott's favorite loch there was not left enough to wet the pretty foot of
the Lady of the Lake; all that remained was a pond of a few acres at the
further extremity.

This singular event made a profound sensation in the country. It was a
thing unheard of that a lake should in the space of a few minutes empty
itself, and disappear into the bowels of the earth. There was nothing for
it but to erase Loch Katrine from the map of Scotland until (by public
subscription) it could be refilled, care being of course taken, in the
first place, to stop the rent up tight. This catastrophe would have been
the death of Sir Walter Scott, had he still been in the world.

The accident was explicable when it was ascertained that, between the bed
of the lake and the vast cavity beneath, the geological strata had become
reduced to a thin layer, incapable of longer sustaining the weight of
water.

Now, although to most people this event seemed plainly due to natural
causes, yet to James Starr and his friends, Simon and Harry Ford, the
question constantly recurred, was it not rather to be attributed to
malevolence? Uneasy suspicions continually harassed their minds. Was their
evil genius about to renew his persecution of those who ventured to work
this rich mine?

At the cottage, some days later, James Starr thus discussed the matter
with the old man and his son: "Well, Simon," said he, "to my thinking we
must class this circumstance with the others for which we still seek
elucidation, although it is no doubt possible to explain it by natural
causes."

"Oh, I know the result of such research beforehand!" cried the engineer.

"And what will it be, then?"

"We shall find proofs of malevolence, but not the malefactor."

"But he exists! he is there! Where can he lie concealed? Is it possible to
conceive that the most depraved human being could, single-handed, carry
out an idea so infernal as that of bursting through the bed of a lake? I
believe I shall end by thinking, like Jack Ryan, that the evil demon of
the mine revenges himself on us for having invaded his domain."

Nell was allowed to hear as little as possible of these discussions.
Indeed, she showed no desire to enter into them, although it was very
evident that she shared in the anxieties of her adopted parents. The
melancholy in her countenance bore witness to much mental agitation.

It was at length resolved that James Starr, together with Simon and Harry,
should return to the scene of the disaster, and endeavor to satisfy
themselves as to the cause of it. They mentioned their project to no one.
To those unacquainted with the group of facts on which it was based, the
opinion of Starr and his friends could not fail to appear wholly
inadmissible.

A few days later, the three friends proceeded in a small boat to examine
the natural pillars on which had rested the solid earth forming the basin
of Loch Katrine. They discovered that they had been right in suspecting
that the massive columns had been undermined by blasting. The blackened
traces of explosion were to be seen, the waters having subsided below the
level of these mysterious operations Thus the fall of a portion of the
vast vaulted dome was proved to have been premeditated by man, and by
man's hand had it been effected.

"It is impossible to doubt it," said James Starr; "and who can say what
might not have happened had the sea, instead of a little loch, been let in
upon us?"

"You may well say that," cried the old overman, with a feeling of pride in
his beloved mine; "for nothing less than a sea would have drowned our
Aberfoyle. But, once more, what possible interest could any human being
have in the destruction of our works?"

"It is quite incomprehensible," replied James Starr. "This case is
something perfectly unlike that of a band of common criminals, who,
concealing themselves in dens and caves, go forth to rob and pillage the
surrounding country. The evil deeds of such men would certainly, in the
course of three years have betrayed their existence and lurking-places.
Neither can it be, as I sometimes used to think, that smugglers or coiners
carried on their illegal practices in some distant and unknown corner of
these prodigious caverns, and were consequently anxious to drive us out of
them. But no one coins false money or obtains contraband goods only to
conceal them!

"Yet it is clear that an implacable enemy has sworn the ruin of New
Aberfoyle, and that some interest urges him to seek in every possible way
to wreak his hatred upon us. He appears to be too weak to act openly, and
lays his schemes in secret; but displays such intelligence as to render
him a most formidable foe.

"My friends, he must understand better than we do the secrets of our
domain, since he has all this time eluded our vigilance. He must be a man
experienced in mining, skilled beyond the most skillful—that's
certain, Simon! We have proof enough of that.

"Let me see! Have you never had a personal enemy, to whom your suspicions
might point? Think well! There is such a thing as hatred which time never
softens. Go back to recollections of your earliest days. What befalls us
appears the work of a stern and patient will, and to explain it demands
every effort of thought and memory."

Simon did not answer immediately—his mind evidently engaged in a
close and candid survey of his past life. Presently, raising his head,
"No," said he; "no! Heaven be my witness, neither Madge nor I have ever
injured anybody. We cannot believe that we have a single enemy in the
world."

"Ah! if Nell would only speak!" cried the engineer.

"Mr. Starr—and you, father," said Harry, "I do beg of you to keep
silence on this matter, and not to question my poor Nell. I know she is
very anxious and uneasy; and I feel positive that some great secret
painfully oppresses her heart. Either she knows nothing it would be of any
use for us to hear, or she considers it her duty to be silent. It is
impossible to doubt her affection for us—for all of us. If at a
future time she informs me of what she has hitherto concealed from us, you
shall know about it immediately."

"So be it, then, Harry," answered the engineer; "and yet I must say Nell's
silence, if she knows anything, is to me perfectly inexplicable."

Harry would have continued her defense; but the engineer stopped him,
saying, "All right, Harry; we promise to say no more about it to your
future wife."

"With my father's consent she shall be my wife without further delay."

"My boy," said old Simon, "your marriage shall take place this very day
month. Mr. Starr, will you undertake the part of Nell's father?"

"You may reckon upon me for that, Simon," answered the engineer.

They then returned to the cottage, but said not a word of the result of
their examinations in the mine, so that to the rest of its inhabitants,
the bursting in of the vaulted roof of the caverns continued to be
regarded as a mere accident. There was but a loch the less in Scotland.

Nell gradually resumed her customary duties, and Harry made good use of
her little visit to the upper air, in the instructions he gave her. She
enjoyed the recollections of life above ground, yet without regretting it.
The somber region she had loved as a child, and in which her wedded life
would be spent, was as dear to her as ever.

The approaching marriage created great excitement in New Aberfoyle. Good
wishes poured in on all sides, and foremost among them were Jack Ryan's.
He was detected busily practicing his best songs in preparation for the
great day, which was to be celebrated by the whole population of Coal
Town.

During the month preceding the wedding-day, there were more accidents
occurring in New Aberfoyle than had ever been known in the place. One
would have thought the approaching union of Harry and Nell actually
provoked one catastrophe after another. These misfortunes happened chiefly
at the further and lowest extremity of the works, and the cause of them
was always in some way mysterious.

Thus, for instance, the wood-work of a distant gallery was discovered to
be in flames, which were extinguished by Harry and his companions at the
risk of their lives, by employing engines filled with water and carbonic
acid, always kept ready in case of necessity. The lamp used by the
incendiary was found; but no clew whatever as to who he could be.

Another time an inundation took place in consequence of the stanchions of
a water-tank giving way; and Mr. Starr ascertained beyond a doubt that
these supports had first of all been partially sawn through. Harry, who
had been overseeing the works near the place at the time, was buried in
the falling rubbish, and narrowly escaped death.

A few days afterwards, on the steam tramway, a train of trucks, which
Harry was passing along, met with an obstacle on the rails, and was
overturned. It was then discovered that a beam had been laid across the
line. In short, events of this description became so numerous that the
miners were seized with a kind of panic, and it required all the influence
of their chiefs to keep them on the works.

"You would think that there was a whole band of these ruffians," Simon
kept saying, "and we can't lay hands on a single one of them."

Search was made in all directions. The county police were on the alert
night and day, yet discovered nothing. The evil intentions seeming
specially designed to injure Harry. Starr forbade him to venture alone
beyond the ordinary limits of the works.

They were equally careful of Nell, although, at Harry's entreaty, these
malicious attempts to do harm were concealed from her, because they might
remind her painfully of former times. Simon and Madge watched over her by
day and by night with a sort of stern solicitude. The poor child yielded
to their wishes, without a remark or a complaint. Did she perceive that
they acted with a view to her interest? Probably she did. And on her part,
she seemed to watch over others, and was never easy unless all whom she
loved were together in the cottage.

When Harry came home in the evening, she could not restrain expressions of
child-like joy, very unlike her usual manner, which was rather reserved
than demonstrative. As soon as day broke, she was astir before anyone
else, and her constant uneasiness lasted all day until the hour of return
home from work.

Harry became very anxious that their marriage should take place. He
thought that, when the irrevocable step was taken, malevolence would be
disarmed, and that Nell would never feel safe until she was his wife.
James Starr, Simon, and Madge, were all of the same opinion, and everyone
counted the intervening days, for everyone suffered from the most
uncomfortable forebodings.

It was perfectly evident that nothing relating to Nell was indifferent to
this hidden foe, whom it was impossible to meet or to avoid. Therefore it
seemed quite possible that the solemn act of her marriage with Harry might
be the occasion of some new and dreadful outbreak of his hatred.

One morning, a week before the day appointed for the ceremony, Nell,
rising early, went out of the cottage before anyone else. No sooner had
she crossed the threshold than a cry of indescribable anguish escaped her
lips.

Her voice was heard throughout the dwelling; in a moment, Madge, Harry,
and Simon were at her side. Nell was pale as death, her countenance
agitated, her features expressing the utmost horror. Unable to speak, her
eyes were riveted on the door of the cottage, which she had just opened.

With rigid fingers she pointed to the following words traced upon it
during the night: "Simon Ford, you have robbed me of the last vein in our
old pit. Harry, your son, has robbed me of Nell. Woe betide you! Woe
betide you all! Woe betide New Aberfoyle!—SILFAX."

"Silfax!" exclaimed Simon and Madge together.

"Who is this man?" demanded Harry, looking alternately at his father and
at the maiden.

"Silfax!" repeated Nell in tones of despair, "Silfax!"—and,
murmuring this name, her whole frame shuddering with fear and agitation,
she was borne away to her chamber by old Madge.

James Starr, hastening to the spot, read the threatening sentences again
and again.

"The hand which traced these lines," said he at length, "is the same which
wrote me the letter contradicting yours, Simon. The man calls himself
Silfax. I see by your troubled manner that you know him. Who is this
Silfax?"

CHAPTER XVII. THE "MONK"

THIS name revealed everything to the old overman. It was that of the last
"monk" of the Dochart pit.

In former days, before the invention of the safety-lamp, Simon had known
this fierce man, whose business it was to go daily, at the risk of his
life, to produce partial explosions of fire-damp in the passages. He used
to see this strange solitary being, prowling about the mine, always
accompanied by a monstrous owl, which he called Harfang, who assisted him
in his perilous occupation, by soaring with a lighted match to places
Silfax was unable to reach.

One day this old man disappeared, and at the same time also, a little
orphan girl born in the mine, who had no relation but himself, her
great-grandfather. It was perfectly evident now that this child was Nell.
During the fifteen years, up to the time when she was saved by Harry, they
must have lived in some secret abyss of the mine.

The old overman, full of mingled compassion and anger, made known to the
engineer and Harry all that the name of Silfax had revealed to him. It
explained the whole mystery. Silfax was the mysterious being so long
vainly sought for in the depths of New Aberfoyle.

"So you knew him, Simon?" demanded Mr. Starr.

"Yes, that I did," replied the overman. "The Harfang man, we used to call
him. Why, he was old then! He must be fifteen or twenty years older than I
am. A wild, savage sort of fellow, who held aloof from everyone and was
known to fear nothing—neither fire nor water. It was his own fancy
to follow the trade of 'monk,' which few would have liked. The constant
danger of the business had unsettled his brain. He was prodigiously
strong, and he knew the mine as no one else—at any rate, as well as
I did. He lived on a small allowance. In faith, I believed him dead years
ago."

"But," resumed James Starr, "what does he mean by those words, 'You have
robbed me of the last vein of our old mine'?"

"Ah! there it is," replied Simon; "for a long time it had been a fancy of
his—I told you his mind was deranged—that he had a right to
the mine of Aberfoyle; so he became more and more savage in temper the
deeper the Dochart pit—his pit!—was worked out. It just seemed
as if it was his own body that suffered from every blow of the pickax. You
must remember that, Madge?"

"Ay, that I do, Simon," replied she.

"I can recollect all this," resumed Simon, "since I have seen the name of
Silfax on the door. But I tell you, I thought the man was dead, and never
imagined that the spiteful being we have so long sought for could be the
old fireman of the Dochart pit."

"Well, now, then," said Starr, "it is all quite plain. Chance made known
to Silfax the new vein of coal. With the egotism of madness, he believed
himself the owner of a treasure he must conceal and defend. Living in the
mine, and wandering about day and night, he perceived that you had
discovered the secret, and had written in all haste to beg me to come.
Hence the letter contradicting yours; hence, after my arrival, all the
accidents that occurred, such as the block of stone thrown at Harry, the
broken ladder at the Yarrow shaft, the obstruction of the openings into
the wall of the new cutting; hence, in short, our imprisonment, and then
our deliverance, brought about by the kind assistance of Nell, who acted
of course without the knowledge of this man Silfax, and contrary to his
intentions."

"You describe everything exactly as it must have happened, Mr. Starr,"
returned old Simon. "The old 'Monk' is mad enough now, at any rate!"

"Ah! now I understand that the very thought of him must have terrified
poor little Nell, and also I see that she could not bear to denounce her
grandfather. What a miserable time she must have had of it with the old
man!"

"Miserable with a vengeance," replied Simon, "between that savage and his
owl, as savage as himself. Depend upon it, that bird isn't dead. That was
what put our lamp out, and also so nearly cut the rope by which Harry and
Nell were suspended."

"And then, you see," said Madge, "this news of the marriage of our son
with his granddaughter added to his rancor and ill-will."

"To be sure," said Simon. "To think that his Nell should marry one of the
robbers of his own coal mine would just drive him wild altogether."

"He will have to make up his mind to it, however," cried Harry. "Mad as he
is, we shall manage to convince him that Nell is better off with us here
than ever she was in the caverns of the pit. I am sure, Mr. Starr, if we
could only catch him, we should be able to make him listen to reason."

"My poor Harry! there is no reasoning with a madman," replied the
engineer. "Of course it is better to know your enemy than not; but you
must not fancy all is right because we have found out who he is. We must
be on our guard, my friends; and to begin with, Harry, you positively must
question Nell. She will perceive that her silence is no longer reasonable.
Even for her grandfather's own interest, she ought to speak now. For his
own sake, as well as for ours, these insane plots must be put a stop to."

"I feel sure, Mr. Starr," answered Harry, "that Nell will of herself
propose to tell you what she knows. You see it was from a sense of duty
that she has been silent hitherto. My mother was very right to take her to
her room just now. She much needed time to recover her spirits; but now I
will go for her."

"You need not do so, Harry," said the maiden in a clear and firm voice, as
she entered at that moment the room in which they were. Nell was very
pale; traces of tears were in her eyes; but her whole manner showed that
she had nerved herself to act as her loyal heart dictated as her duty.

"Nell!" cried Harry, springing towards her.

The girl arrested her lover by a gesture, and continued, "Your father and
mother, and you, Harry, must now know all. And you too, Mr. Starr, must
remain ignorant of nothing that concerns the child you have received, and
whom Harry—unfortunately for him, alas!—drew from the abyss."

"Oh, Nell! what are you saying?" cried Harry.

"Allow her to speak," said James Starr in a decided tone.

"I am the granddaughter of old Silfax," resumed Nell. "I never knew a
mother till the day I came here," added she, looking at Madge.

"Blessed be that day, my daughter!" said the old woman.

"I knew no father till I saw Simon Ford," continued Nell; "nor friend till
the day when Harry's hand touched mine. Alone with my grandfather I have
lived during fifteen years in the remote and most solitary depths of the
mine. I say WITH my grandfather, but I can scarcely use the expression,
for I seldom saw him. When he disappeared from Old Aberfoyle, he concealed
himself in caverns known only to himself. In his way he was kind to me,
dreadful as he was; he fed me with whatever he could procure from outside
the mine; but I can dimly recollect that in my earliest years I was the
nursling of a goat, the death of which was a bitter grief to me. My
grandfather, seeing my distress, brought me another animal—a dog he
said it was. But, unluckily, this dog was lively, and barked. Grandfather
did not like anything cheerful. He had a horror of noise, and had taught
me to be silent; the dog he could not teach to be quiet, so the poor
animal very soon disappeared. My grandfather's companion was a ferocious
bird, Harfang, of which, at first, I had a perfect horror; but this
creature, in spite of my dislike to it, took such a strong affection for
me, that I could not help returning it. It even obeyed me better than its
master, which used to make me quite uneasy, for my grandfather was
jealous. Harfang and I did not dare to let him see us much together; we
both knew it would be dangerous. But I am talking too much about myself:
the great thing is about you."

"No, my child," said James Starr, "tell us everything that comes to your
mind."

"My grandfather," continued Nell, "always regarded your abode in the mine
with a very evil eye—not that there was any lack of space. His
chosen refuge was far—very far from you. But he could not bear to
feel that you were there. If I asked any questions about the people up
above us, his face grew dark, he gave no answer, and continued quite
silent for a long time afterwards. But when he perceived that, not content
with the old domain, you seemed to think of encroaching upon his, then
indeed his anger burst forth. He swore that, were you to succeed in
reaching the new mine, you should assuredly perish. Notwithstanding his
great age, his strength is astonishing, and his threats used to make me
tremble."

"Go on, Nell, my child," said Simon to the girl, who paused as though to
collect her thoughts.

"On the occasion of your first attempt," resumed Nell, "as soon as my
grandfather saw that you were fairly inside the gallery leading to New
Aberfoyle, he stopped up the opening, and turned it into a prison for you.
I only knew you as shadows dimly seen in the gloom of the pit, but I could
not endure the idea that you would die of hunger in these horrid places;
and so, at the risk of being detected, I succeeded in obtaining bread and
water for you during some days. I should have liked to help you to escape,
but it was so difficult to avoid the vigilance of my grandfather. You were
about to die. Then arrived Jack Ryan and the others. By the providence of
God I met with them, and instantly guided them to where you were. When my
grandfather discovered what I had done, his rage against me was terrible.
I expected death at his hands. After that my life became insupportable to
me. My grandfather completely lost his senses. He proclaimed himself King
of Darkness and Flame; and when he heard your tools at work on coal-beds
which he considered entirely his own, he became furious and beat me
cruelly. I would have fled from him, but it was impossible, so narrowly
did he watch me. At last, in a fit of ungovernable fury, he threw me down
into the abyss where you found me, and disappeared, vainly calling on
Harfang, which faithfully stayed by me, to follow him. I know not how long
I remained there, but I felt I was at the point of death when you, my
Harry, came and saved me. But now you all see that the grandchild of old
Silfax can never be the wife of Harry Ford, because it would be certain
death to you all!"

"Nell!" cried Harry.

"No," continued the maiden, "my resolution is taken. By one means only can
your ruin be averted; I must return to my grandfather. He threatens to
destroy the whole of New Aberfoyle. His is a soul incapable of mercy or
forgiveness, and no mortal can say to what horrid deed the spirit of
revenge will lead him. My duty is clear; I should be the most despicable
creature on earth did I hesitate to perform it. Farewell! I thank you all
heartily. You only have taught me what happiness is. Whatever may befall,
believe that my whole heart remains with you."

At these words, Simon, Madge, and Harry started up in an agony of grief,
exclaiming in tones of despair, "What, Nell! is it possible you would
leave us?"

James Starr put them all aside with an air of authority, and, going
straight up to Nell, he took both her hands in his, saying quietly, "Very
right, my child; you have said exactly what you ought to say; and now
listen to what we have to say in reply. We shall not let you go away; if
necessary, we shall keep you by force. Do you think we could be so base as
to accept of your generous proposal? These threats of Silfax are
formidable—no doubt about it! But, after all, a man is but a man,
and we can take precautions. You will tell us, will you not, even for his
own sake, all you can about his habits and his lurking-places? All we want
to do is to put it out of his power to do harm, and perhaps bring him to
reason."

"You want to do what is quite impossible," said Nell. "My grandfather is
everywhere and nowhere. I have never seen his retreats. I have never seen
him sleep. If he meant to conceal himself, he used to leave me alone, and
vanish. When I took my resolution, Mr. Starr, I was aware of everything
you could say against it. Believe me, there is but one way to render
Silfax powerless, and that will be by my return to him. Invisible himself,
he sees everything that goes on. Just think whether it is likely he could
discover your very thoughts and intentions, from that time when the letter
was written to Mr. Starr, up to now that my marriage with Harry has been
arranged, if he did not possess the extraordinary faculty of knowing
everything. As far as I am able to judge, my grandfather, in his very
insanity, is a man of most powerful mind. He formerly used to talk to me
on very lofty subjects. He taught me the existence of God, and never
deceived me but on one point, which was—that he made me believe that
all men were base and perfidious, because he wished to inspire me with his
own hatred of all the human race. When Harry brought me to the cottage,
you thought I was simply ignorant of mankind, but, far beyond that, I was
in mortal fear of you all. Ah, forgive me! I assure you, for many days I
believed myself in the power of wicked wretches, and I longed to escape.
You, Madge, first led me to perceive the truth, not by anything you said,
but by the sight of your daily life, for I saw that your husband and son
loved and respected you! Then all these good and happy workmen, who so
revere and trust Mr. Starr, I used to think they were slaves; and when,
for the first time, I saw the whole population of Aberfoyle come to church
and kneel down to pray to God, and praise Him for His infinite goodness, I
said to myself, 'My grandfather has deceived me.' But now, enlightened by
all you have taught me, I am inclined to think he himself is deceived. I
mean to return to the secret passages I formerly frequented with him. He
is certain to be on the watch. I will call to him; he will hear me, and
who knows but that, by returning to him, I may be able to bring him to the
knowledge of the truth?"

The maiden spoke without interruption, for all felt that it was good for
her to open her whole heart to her friends.

But when, exhausted by emotion, and with eyes full of tears, she ceased
speaking, Harry turned to old Madge and said, "Mother, what should you
think of the man who could forsake the noble girl whose words you have
been listening to?"

"I should think he was a base coward," said Madge, "and, were he my son, I
should renounce and curse him."

"Nell, do you hear what our mother says?" resumed Harry. "Wherever you go
I will follow you. If you persist in leaving us, we will go away
together."

"Harry! Harry!" cried Nell.

Overcome by her feelings, the girl's lips blanched, and she sank into the
arms of Madge, who begged she might be left alone with her.

CHAPTER XVIII. NELL'S WEDDING

IT was agreed that the inhabitants of the cottage must keep more on their
guard than ever. The threats of old Silfax were too serious to be
disregarded. It was only too possible that he possessed some terrible
means by which the whole of Aberfoyle might be annihilated.

Armed sentinels were posted at the various entrances to the mine, with
orders to keep strict watch day and night. Any stranger entering the mine
was brought before James Starr, that he might give an account of himself.
There being no fear of treason among the inhabitants of Coal Town, the
threatened danger to the subterranean colony was made known to them. Nell
was informed of all the precautions taken, and became more tranquil,
although she was not free from uneasiness. Harry's determination to follow
her wherever she went compelled her to promise not to escape from her
friends.

During the week preceding the wedding, no accident whatever occurred in
Aberfoyle. The system of watching was carefully maintained, but the miners
began to recover from the panic, which had seriously interrupted the work
of excavation. James Starr continued to look out for Silfax. The old man
having vindictively declared that Nell should never marry Simon's son, it
was natural to suppose that he would not hesitate to commit any violent
deed which would hinder their union.

The examination of the mine was carried on minutely. Every passage and
gallery was searched, up to those higher ranges which opened out among the
ruins of Dundonald Castle. It was rightly supposed that through this old
building Silfax passed out to obtain what was needful for the support of
his miserable existence (which he must have done, either by purchasing or
thieving).

As to the "fire-maidens," James Starr began to think that appearance must
have been produced by some jet of fire-damp gas which, issuing from that
part of the pit, could be lighted by Silfax. He was not far wrong; but all
search for proof of this was fruitless, and the continued strain of
anxiety in this perpetual effort to detect a malignant and invisible being
rendered the engineer—outwardly calm—an unhappy man.

389

As the wedding-day approached, his dread of some catastrophe increased,
and he could not but speak of it to the old overman, whose uneasiness soon
more than equaled his own. At length the day came. Silfax had given no
token of existence.

By daybreak the entire population of Coal Town was astir. Work was
suspended; overseers and workmen alike desired to do honor to Simon Ford
and his son. They all felt they owed a large debt of gratitude to these
bold and persevering men, by whose means the mine had been restored to its
former prosperity. The ceremony was to take place at eleven o'clock, in
St. Giles's chapel, which stood on the shores of Loch Malcolm.

At the appointed time, Harry left the cottage, supporting his mother on
his arm, while Simon led the bride. Following them came Starr, the
engineer, composed in manner, but in reality nerved to expect the worst,
and Jack Ryan, stepping superb in full Highland piper's costume. Then came
the other mining engineers, the principal people of Coal Town, the friends
and comrades of the old overman—every member of this great family of
miners forming the population of New Aberfoyle.

In the outer world, the day was one of the hottest of the month of August,
peculiarly oppressive in northern countries. The sultry air penetrated the
depths of the coal mine, and elevated the temperature. The air which
entered through the ventilating shafts, and the great tunnel of Loch
Malcolm, was charged with electricity, and the barometer, it was
afterwards remarked, had fallen in a remarkable manner. There was, indeed,
every indication that a storm might burst forth beneath the rocky vault
which formed the roof of the enormous crypt of the very mine itself.

But the inhabitants were not at that moment troubling themselves about the
chances of atmospheric disturbance above ground. Everybody, as a matter of
course, had put on his best clothes for the occasion. Madge was dressed in
the fashion of days gone by, wearing the "toy" and the "rokelay," or
Tartan plaid, of matrons of the olden time, old Simon wore a coat of which
Bailie Nicol Jarvie himself would have approved.

Nell had resolved to show nothing of her mental agitation; she forbade her
heart to beat, or her inward terrors to betray themselves, and the brave
girl appeared before all with a calm and collected aspect. She had
declined every ornament of dress, and the very simplicity of her attire
added to the charming elegance of her appearance. Her hair was bound with
the "snood," the usual head-dress of Scottish maidens.

All proceeded towards St. Giles's chapel, which had been handsomely
decorated for the occasion.

The electric discs of light which illuminated Coal Town blazed like so
many suns. A luminous atmosphere pervaded New Aberfoyle. In the chapel,
electric lamps shed a glow over the stained-glass windows, which shone
like fiery kaleidoscopes. At the porch of the chapel the minister awaited
the arrival of the wedding party.

It approached, after having passed in stately procession along the shore
of Loch Malcolm. Then the tones of the organ were heard, and, preceded by
the minister, the group advanced into the chapel. The Divine blessing was
first invoked on all present. Then Harry and Nell remained alone before
the minister, who, holding the sacred book in his hand, proceeded to say,
"Harry, will you take Nell to be your wife, and will you promise to love
her always?"

"I promise," answered the young man in a firm and steady voice.

"And you, Nell," continued the minister, "will you take Harry to be your
husband, and—"

Before he could finish the sentence, a prodigious noise resounded from
without. One of the enormous rocks, on which was formed the terrace
overhanging the banks of Loch Malcolm, had suddenly given way and opened
without explosion, disclosing a profound abyss, into which the waters were
now wildly plunging.

In another instant, among the shattered rocks and rushing waves appeared a
canoe, which a vigorous arm propelled along the surface of the lake. In
the canoe was seen the figure of an old man standing upright. He was
clothed in a dark mantle, his hair was dishevelled, a long white beard
fell over his breast, and in his hand he bore a lighted Davy safety lamp,
the flame being protected by the metallic gauze of the apparatus.

In a loud voice this old man shouted, "The fire-damp is upon you! Woe—woe
betide ye all!"

At the same moment the slight smell peculiar to carburetted hydrogen was
perceptibly diffused through the atmosphere. And, in truth, the fall of
the rock had made a passage of escape for an enormous quantity of
explosive gas, accumulated in vast cavities, the openings to which had
hitherto been blocked up.

Jets and streams of the fire-damp now rose upward in the vaulted dome; and
well did that fierce old man know that the consequence of what he had done
would be to render explosive the whole atmosphere of the mine.

James Starr and several others, having hastily quitted the chapel, and
perceived the imminence of the danger, now rushed back, crying out in
accents of the utmost alarm, "Fly from the mine! Fly instantly from the
mine!"

"Now for the fire-damp! Here comes the fire-damp!" yelled the old man,
urging his canoe further along the lake.

Harry with his bride, his father and his mother, left the chapel in haste
and in terror.

"Fly! fly for your lives!" repeated James Starr. Alas! it was too late to
fly! Old Silfax stood there, prepared to fulfill his last dreadful threat—prepared
to stop the marriage of Nell and Harry by overwhelming the entire
population of the place beneath the ruins of the coal mine.

As he stood ready to accomplish this act of vengeance, his enormous owl,
whose white plumage was marked with black spots, was seen hovering
directly above his head.

At that moment a man flung himself into the waters of the lake, and swam
vigorously towards the canoe.

It was Jack Ryan, fully determined to reach the madman before he could do
the dreadful deed of destruction.

Silfax saw him coming. Instantly he smashed the glass of his lamp, and,
snatching out the burning wick, waved it in the air.

Silence like death fell upon the astounded multitude. James Starr, in the
calmness of despair, marvelled that the inevitable explosion was even for
a moment delayed.

Silfax, gazing upwards with wild and contracted features, appeared to
become aware that the gas, lighter than the lower atmosphere, was
accumulating far up under the dome; and at a sign from him the owl,
seizing in its claw the lighted match, soared upwards to the vaulted roof,
towards which the madman pointed with outstretched arm.

Another second and New Aberfoyle would be no more.

Suddenly Nell sprang from Harry's arms, and, with a bright look of
inspiration, she ran to the very brink of the waters of the lake.
"Harfang! Harfang!" cried she in a clear voice; "here! come to me!"

The faithful bird, surprised, appeared to hesitate in its flight.
Presently, recognizing Nell's voice, it dropped the burning match into the
water, and, describing a wide circle, flew downwards, alighting at the
maiden's feet.

Then a terrible cry echoed through the vaulted roofs. It was the last
sound uttered by old Silfax.

Just as Jack Ryan laid his hand on the edge of the canoe, the old man,
foiled in his purpose of revenge, cast himself headlong into the waters of
the lake.

But his efforts were useless. The waters of Loch Malcolm yielded not their
prey: they closed forever over Silfax.

CHAPTER XIX. THE LEGEND OF OLD SILFAX

Six months after these events, the marriage, so strangely interrupted, was
finally celebrated in St. Giles's chapel, and the young couple, who still
wore mourning garments, returned to the cottage. James Starr and Simon
Ford, henceforth free from the anxieties which had so long distressed
them, joyously presided over the entertainment which followed the
ceremony, and prolonged it to the following day.

On this memorable occasion, Jack Ryan, in his favorite character of piper,
and in all the glory of full dress, blew up his chanter, and astonished
the company by the unheard of achievement of playing, singing, and dancing
all at once.

It is needless to say that Harry and Nell were happy. These loving hearts,
after the trials they had gone through found in their union the happiness
they deserved.

As to Simon Ford, the ex-overman of New Aberfoyle, he began to talk of
celebrating his golden wedding, after fifty years of marriage with good
old Madge, who liked the idea immensely herself.

"And after that, why not golden wedding number two?"

"You would like a couple of fifties, would you, Mr. Simon?" said Jack
Ryan.

"All right, my boy," replied the overman quietly, "I see nothing against
it in this fine climate of ours, and living far from the luxury and
intemperance of the outer world."

Will the dwellers in Coal Town ever be called to witness this second
ceremony? Time will show. Certainly the strange bird of old Silfax seemed
destined to attain a wonderful longevity. The Harfang continued to haunt
the gloomy recesses of the cave. After the old man's death, Nell had
attempted to keep the owl, but in a very few days he flew away. He
evidently disliked human society as much as his master had done, and,
besides that, he appeared to have a particular spite against Harry. The
jealous bird seemed to remember and hate him for having carried off Nell
from the deep abyss, notwithstanding all he could do to prevent him.
Still, at long intervals, Nell would see the creature hovering above Loch
Malcolm.

Could he possibly be watching for his friend of yore? Did he strive to
pierce, with keen eye, the depths which had engulfed his master?

The history of the Harfang became legendary, and furnished Jack Ryan with
many a tale and song. Thanks to him, the story of old Silfax and his bird
will long be preserved, and handed down to future generations of the
Scottish peasantry.

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